Flight of the Crows
by Mephiles454
Summary: Third in the Crane Series. It had been three days since Becky's imprisonment in Arkham Asylum, and already it was beginning to take its toll. Not just her nightmares, no, that was just the tip of the iceberg. A frightful conspiracy was already underway, a conspiracy that would shake Gotham to its very core. And nothing will ever be the same again.
1. Nightmare

**Hey, guys. It's been a while. I'm sorry for not updating sooner. I hadn't realized my sophomore year of college would be this busy. Between my art projects, studying for history tests, and making sure I keep up with my science homework, I've barely had any time to think about anything else. Also, I have a friend of mine designing the cover art for this story, but judging by her schedule, that might take a while, too.**

 **This story will be focusing a lot more on Jonathan and Becky's relationship with each other. Be aware, I am going to be combining some elements from the Arkham games, including spoilers, so if you haven't played either Arkham City or Knight or have seen someone's Let's play of it, I would advise that you do so before reading further than Chapter 3.**

 **But enough of my ramblings. Let's get this show on the road!**

 _Everything was dark and foggy. Becky struggled to find her way through the thick mist that obscured her path. She didn't know where she was or how she got here. All she knew was that she had to keep going forward._

 _As she walked, her cane slung over her shoulder, her bare feet feeling the cold, damp ground beneath her, she knew that she was not in Gotham. She looked around, squinting her eyes to try to pierce through the gloom surrounding her. Although she couldn't see much more than a foot in front of her, she could see the large trunks of trees in the distance._

 _"This is definitely not Gotham," she said, her cane gripped in her right hand, ready should anything approach. "But then, where is here? I've never seen such a place before."_

 _Something moved out of the corner of her eye. Becky spun, her cane switched to gun mode as she aimed towards where she had last seen the movement. "Hello? Who's there?"_

 _No one answered. She was sure she had seen something moving. It couldn't have been just her imagination._

 _"Hello?"_

 _The thing came closer to her now. Becky couldn't see the figure's face, but she recognized the outfit it wore. It was the same costume she wore during her heists with the Scarecrow._

 _"What on earth are you? Are you…me?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her caution as she approached it. Why was her costume in front of her?_

 _The figure said nothing. Putting its hands on the seams, it started to lift the mask from its face._

 _Then, suddenly, the dream faded with a loud clatter._

"Hey, wake up!"

Becky groggily opened one of her eyes to the piercing light as the guard loudly clanked on the glass outside of her cell window, the sound rousing her from her troubled sleep.

"Yeah, I'm up. I'm up," she said, slowly rising from her cot, her arms stretching out as she yawned. "What's going on?"

"Breakfast time. I suggest you come quickly and quietly, Rebecca, unless you want to miss it."

She sighed, pushing herself up and onto her feet. Three days. She had been in Arkham three days now, and she still wasn't used to it. She itched at her orange prison jumpsuit, which showed her number, 22080, and the name R. Albright on the right breast pocket. She was beginning to regret pleading insanity and staying in Arkham Asylum.

She didn't know why, but there was something about the place that…frightened her. She didn't know whether it was the air of insanity of the patients or the cold, clinical, apathetic expressions of the psychiatrists that made this building seem heavy with the air of apprehension, like something was going to snap at any moment. "It's just Becky," she muttered, her eyes glaring at the guard. Either way, it made her tense and anxious. And this didn't bode well for her general mood and stubborn nature.

"Whatever," the guard said, the smell of chewing tobacco radiating off him like the light of a lantern. She honestly detested the smell, but couldn't do anything about it. Ever since the Scarebeast, her senses had become more acute when she became stressed, which happened to be whenever she was in Arkham, apparently.

She still had no idea why her leg was healed. She figured it had something to do with her supposed death during her fight with Friitawa, but that was all she could remember. The only other thing she could remember that night was clinging to Jonathan's body like a lifeline and later her imprisonment and trial. Everything else drew a blank in her mind.

She slowly walked towards the guard, holding out her hands as he put the handcuffs on her wrists, though a bit too tightly for her liking. He opened the door, letting her walk behind him as another guard brought up the rear.

She took a glance at some of the patients in the transparent cells beside her, giving a small smile as she passed Harvey Dent, otherwise known as Two-Face to the public. He nodded his acknowledgement at her passing, continuing to toss his coin up and down in his right hand.

Next up were Ivy, then Harley, and finally, the Riddler. She tensed up as she got to the Riddler. She really hoped he wasn't awake just yet. It was way too early for her to process riddles right now.

"Hey, Becky, riddle me this…"

She groaned, already feeling the headache coming. _Here we go…_

"What asks but never answers?"

"Oh, I don't know, you?" she retorted, grinning as she saw him scowl. Served him right for asking at such an ungodly hour of the morning. She continued to grin the whole way to the cafeteria.

She could already see a few people already there. There were not many that she knew, but she did spy someone familiar from her position in the line. Who would have thought she would have the luck to find Jonathan Crane sharing her breakfast schedule with her?

Becky walked towards the opposite side from him, her tray of gruel, stale bread, and slightly mushy scrambled eggs in her hand. She sat down beside him, eyeing the guards disdainfully. She had never liked people watching her while she ate.

"You get used to it after a while," Crane muttered to her, taking large slurps of gruel from his spoon. He could tell from her hunched shoulders and pursed lips that she was tense. Not that he could blame her. Arkham tended to have that effect on a person, be it a doctor or a patient. There was something just not right with the place. But he sensed that was not the only reason she was tense. "Nightmares again?"

She smiled ruefully. "Is it that obvious?" she muttered, putting a piece of the scrambled egg in her mouth. She had been having the same nightmare since the Scarebeast incident, and it didn't look like it was going away anytime soon. It frustrated her. Every single time she thought she would see the mysterious figure's face; she was woken up, either by the guard or on her own.

"Partly," he replied curtly, eyeing the stale bread critically, before leaving it alone. He'd rather not have his jaw ache later from chewing that hard, lumpy rock of dough they called bread. "Was it the Beast again?"

She shook her head. She hadn't had many nightmares about that creature, at least, not since her first night. "Not really, no. It was something else." She shrugged. "It's probably nothing."

"Maybe, maybe not," he mused, drinking his cup of coffee slowly. He chuckled. "Tetch would say that you could never tell with dreams."

"Have you heard from him lately?" she asked, a tinge of worry in her tone. She hadn't seen either Alice or Jervis since the Scarebeast Incident, and she had wondered whether he was still running from the law or if he was captured.

"Not yet. The Bat hasn't brought him today. We'll have to see about tomorrow," he said, his eye on the guard, who was pointing at his watch. "If you'll excuse me, Becky, that oh-so-nice man has decided that my time is up," he replied snarkily, grabbing his plate and throwing it in the garbage can before following the guard.

She giggled softly, waving slightly to him as he was escorted to his psychiatric appointment. So far, they had been keeping their relationship a secret between the two of them. They would rather not give any leverage for either the psychiatrists or the other rogues to use against them. The only person who knew was the Riddler, and he wouldn't give information away for free, not after the Scarecrow had threatened him with fear-gas if he tried. Although, she knew a few of the others already suspected their relationship.

A few minutes later, the guard called her name, and she was escorted to her new psychiatrist.


	2. Therapy

**Hey, guys, I'm back. Sorry about leaving you guys hanging. Between tests and art projects, I've barely had time to don't worry, things will be back to normal soon. I was a bit hesitant on whether to continue this as Chapter 1 or to make it it's own chapter. I have decided it would be its own chapter. Also, to all those who left me a review, thank you so much. I really appreciate what you think about my stories, as well as any constructive criticism that you might have. I'm always striving to get better and to make the characters as real as possible.**

 **Anyway, enough about me. Back to the story.**

 **Disclaimer: I in no way own Jonathan, Becky or any of the other characters in this story. Those belong to DC. If I did, JonathanxBecky would be an official couple and the New 52 wouldn't have happened.**

As Becky was walked along the halls of the insane asylum, guard at either end of her, she couldn't help but wonder who she would be seeing. Doubtless she would get some stiff-backed medical poser who just wanted to become famous for getting one of the Rogues' cases. At least, that was what Crane had told her. She had no idea what to expect. This psychiatrist could be anyone. And with how the guards were treating her, she knew to be on her guard.

Hopefully, she wouldn't bite anyone's head off, although she was certainly feeling like it. Between her upset stomach over the undercooked food and the stress of Arkham itself, she didn't know if she would survive here. It was little wonder why Crane or any of the other rogues hated this place.

 _Well, duh. It's an insane asylum full of mentally disabled and psychotic people. Of course it was not made to be comfortable_ , she scolded herself, her hands reaching to brush a stray, curly hair from her face, only to find that her arms couldn't reach that far. She growled softly in annoyance, before sufficing to blow it away from her face and leave it at that.

Soon, they stopped at a wooden door. On it, in bold letter read DR. JOAN LELAND, Ph. D. Slowly, she opened the door, bracing herself for who might be inside.

To her surprise, inside, sitting comfortably at her desk reading her report, was a young, slender African-American lady, looking barely like she was out of medical school herself, much less her doctorate.

The woman, whom Becky assumed to be Dr. Leland, looked up from the file and smiled at her. "Ah, Ms. Albright, come right in."

Becky hesitantly walked towards her, her legs slightly shuffling across the floor. She still wasn't used to taking big steps yet with both feet, so she settled for slightly shuffling them across the floor, her arms slightly out in habit to keep her balanced.

"Have a seat," Dr. Leland requested, her eyes warm and searching her carefully. She could never be too sure with her patients, as many of the rogues were unpredictable and prone to fits. But this girl looked like she was stable, so she averted her eyes soon enough. "So, Rebecca-"

"It's Becky," the redhead interrupted, slightly irritated. She hated her full first name. She felt that it didn't fit her at all. And yet every single member of the staff insisted on calling her that. It was irritating, to say the least.

"-Becky, I am assigned to be your psychiatrist for your stay at Arkham Asylum. My name is Dr. Leland. I will be in charge of your rehabilitation as well as your medication that you will be receiving."

" I see," she said, her eyes scanning the room, noting anything that could keep her attention away from the fact that she was being interrogated by a psychiatrist. "My guess we're going to be doing my diagnosis first, aren't we?"

"That is correct. For the most part, you seem to not have anything mentally worrisome to worry about. You have a mild case of ADD and ADHD, as well as OCD. These symptoms are common in many young adults that are diagnosed." She looked at the young rogue. "Which is why I'm confused. Why exactly did you take the insanity plea when you are not the least bit insane? Didn't you realize what you'd be getting into?"

"Ah, right to the questions, I take it," Becky replied with a small laugh, reminding Leland eerily of one of her previous sessions with Crane. And, was it just her imagination, or did she spy a brief flash of green in one of her eyes? "Very well, ask away. But I'm sure you are aware that there are some questions that I won't be answering."

"Yes, of course, Miss Albright," Leland replied, make sure her tape recorder was turned on and her clipboard filled with enough blank pieces of paper to write down notes. "Now then, about my previous questions?"

"Alright. I took the insanity plea because that was the only way I could make sure that I didn't get killed. Scarecrow has quite a few enemies, and since I am associated with him, so do I. Besides, not all the patients here are insane. As for your second question, Doctor, yes, I did know what I was getting into, but I felt I had no choice in the matter."

"Was this matter choosing to go to Arkham or choosing to join the Scarecrow?" Leland asked curiously, writing down her response down in her notebook.

"Both," Becky replied, slightly itching at the starchy material of her jumpsuit. "But I'd rather be with him than in this dreary place."

"And why would that be, Becky?"

The redhead smiled. "You may not believe this, but the Scarecrow has helped me more than you would expect." She took a look at the analog clock on the wall. "But it seems that we're all out of time."

"Yes, we are. Thank you for your time."

Becky snorted. "Not like I had any choice."

Leland chuckled. "Yes, but you have cooperated better than most patients."

As the guards came in, Becky smiled at her. The doctor seemed quite a bit nicer than what Crane had said. _Who would have thought I would have found the nicest doctor in Arkham?_

"So, um, Bert," she said, reading the guard's nametag. "Where exactly are we going next?"

"Group therapy," he replied gruffly, taking out another piece of chewing tobacco and crunching it in his mouth. "And don't you be making any trouble now, you hear? Otherwise, we're going to have a little talk, lady or not."

She smirked. What she wouldn't give to knock that stinking man's block off.

She frowned. _Where is that coming from?_ She thought, confused. _I'm not usually this aggressive._ She shook her head, blamed it on the uncomfortable atmosphere, and kept walking, eventually being lead towards two double doors, where she assumed was where group therapy took place.

Group therapy, a program engineered to help keep the inmates socialized, was a relatively small program under Arkham's very brief schedule of entertainment. With a group of inmates no bigger than 5-6 people, it was one of the smallest of the scheduled events, and for good reason. With Arkham very understaffed due to the other rogues' breakouts, especially the Joker's, the group needed to be monitored closely to make sure no chaos would erupt. Many times, the patients were given someone familiar or friendly with them to keep the chaos under control, as well as to try to keep causalities to a minimum.

That's what Becky remembered hearing when she had eavesdropped on the guard her first day. She knew that Jonathan was likely to be in there, as well as Edward, Harley, Ivy, and perhaps the Joker. She shuddered at the thought of the Joker. Her encounter with him had left her with a healthy fear of being near the madman. Hopefully, Harley would be there to keep him busy.

As the guards opened the doors and escorted her in, she could see that her guess was correct. Jonathan and Edward were playing chess in the corner, the Joker was on the couch, watching a small TV hooked into the ceiling, with Harley cuddled next to him, and Ivy was talking lovingly to a small flower in a vase.

As she walked in, Jonathan turned from his spot in the corner, calling her over with his eyes and a slight tilt of his head.

Smirking, she joined them over by their small chess table; sitting between the two genius rogues, making sure to give Joker a wide birth as she passed him.

Currently, the game was in the process of being completed, with almost all of the pawns gone as well as two black rooks, two white bishops, and a black knight. Most of the remaining pieces were trapped, with both sides guarding against each other so that only the queens, kings, and three of the knights were available to move.

Jonathan moved his remaining pawn, eyeing Edward's white knight critically. He was very close to getting a checkmate. The white king was just in the right position. All he needed was for Edward to get cocky enough that he would lose sight of just how close the master of fear was to victory.

The Riddler moved his knight, and Jonathan closed in for the kill. Just as he was about to put his piece in place and call checkmate, the psychologist that was assigned to the group came in, calling for everybody to gather around her.

"Crap!" Jonathan cursed, his fist clenched in frustration. And just when he was getting to the good part, too. He glared at Edward's smug, grinning face as the man patted his shoulder.

"Better luck next time, eh, Johnny?" he said, swaggering to his seat as the tall man seethed.

Jonathan growled under his breath. He hated being called Johnny. That was always what Granny used to call him, and he wanted everything to do with her to burn in whatever layer of hell the old hag had ended up going.

"Forget about him," Becky replied as she walked towards her seat. "He's an idiot anyway."

"Hey!" Edward cried.

Becky just grinned, taking a seat between Harley and Ivy.

"Now that we are all here," said the psychiatrist, adjusting the clipboard in her hands. She was rather petite woman, with long, curly blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and blue eyes that seemed to match the scrubs she was wearing. "I'd like to open this session by talking about our feelings."

Crane groaned.

"Is there something you would like to share with us, Mr. Crane?" she asked, politely.

"Its _Dr_. Crane, Dr. …" he squinted at her tag, adjusting the glasses on his nose. "…Wesley, is it? I'd rather hope you won't forget that," he said, contempt clear in his voice. "And, if you want my honest opinion, I don't much care for these petty discussions."

"And why might that be, Dr. Crane?" she asked, writing his thoughts down on her clipboard.

"Oh, Oh, I know, teacher," the Joker said enthusiastically, practically hopping in his seat. "I think that he just doesn't want to say anything about his new giiiirrrrlllfriend."

"Excuse me?" Crane growled, one of his eyes briefly flashing from their normally placid sky blue to a vivid, flaming yellow.

"Ohohoho, it is true, isn't it?" The Joker jumped on his chair, rocking it side to side as he chanted: "Johnny and Beck-y sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"Shut up, clown!" Crane snarled, shooting up from his seat and pointing his long, bony index finger at the clown. "My relationship with Miss Albright is strictly professional."

The clown just continued to laugh. "Yeah, right. And Ivy doesn't have a thing for ol' bacon-face."

"That was one-time thing, and you know it, clown!" Ivy hissed, the plant in her arms making a slight shree. "Besides, last time I saw you, weren't you at the red-lights district downtown?"

"You WHAT?!" Harley shrilly screeched, practically bursting eardrums, shattering glass and causing dogs to howl ten miles downtown. "You went to the red-lights district without me?"

"Now, now, pooh-" Joker backpedaled, his hands up and trying to calm the enraged blonde.

"Don't 'pooh' me, Mistah!" she snarled, practically grabbing him by his jumpsuit and shoving him towards her. "You promised you would only go there with me!"

"Can we please just get back on topic?" the psychiatrist whimpered, huddling in her chair away from the two psycho clowns. She hadn't thought things would get this out of hand on her first day of the job.

"Sure," Crane drawled creepily, taking out a small notepad and crayon, as pencils and pens were banned following Joker's latest breakout. "What are you feelings right now, Dr. Wesley? Uncomfortable? Anxious? _Scared_?"

Becky's eyes widened at the utter chaos before her. "Is it always like this?" she whispered to the Riddler, who was sitting two seats from her.

"Sometimes. You should see what happens during art therapy," he replied, enjoying the show that Harley, Ivy, and Joker were putting on as they tried to strangle each other.

Finally, the poor woman couldn't stand it any longer. "I-I can't take this anymore! Guards! Guards!" she yelped hysterically, turning and fleeing from the encirclement of Rogues.

The Scarecrow sighed as the guards rushed in. "And just when she was about to crack. How disappointing."

Becky just shrugged as she put her hands behind her back. "Perhaps it's just not your day,"

"Perhaps," Jonathan replied, tilting his head to adjust his glasses on his head. One side was bent at an awkward angle, and that caused his glasses to become hard to control. He would need to find a better-fitting pair once he escaped.

And just before the guards approached them, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Becky, be careful what you say. Not everyone has our best interests in mind."

She blinked at him as he leaned away from her, his hands forcibly cuffed behind his back as he was roughly marched through the double doors and back to his cell.

As the guards finished cuffing her and more rushed to handle the Joker and Harley, Becky couldn't help but wonder, as she was being lead away, what Crane had meant. She knew that everything wouldn't be sunshine and unicorns in this place, but she trusted that the psychiatrists still wanted to do their job, and surely protocols must be in place in order to keep such abuses of power under control.

 _After all_ , she thought, _if such things were to happen, surely this place wouldn't have stayed in business._

But little did she know just how deeply the corruption of Arkham was rooted in the hearts and minds of its inhabitants.


	3. Conspiracy

**Hey, guys. Sorry about the late update. My best friend came over this weekend,/strongstrong and since I haven't seen her since the school year started, I wanted to spend more time with her before she had to go back. Plus, I had art homework to do as well, so there's that, too. But don't worry, once this semester is over, there will more chapters, more feels, and more awesomeness. By the way, spoilers for Arkham Asylum.**

That night, as the lights dimmed on the mental institution and the doctors and administration took their leave from their exhausting jobs as the guards took their place, one still remained.

Warden Sharp looked at the feed of the security cameras from his office in Arkham East, flipping through the different images displayed until he stopped at one in particular. This one was overlooking the part of the maximum-security side of the penitentiary, which housed most of the well-known Rogues, and was in a corner facing the cells of Rebecca, Harvey, Harley, Ivy, and Edward.

He zoomed in the camera using his laptop, and focused in on the new inmate.

 _So, the banshee has been captured,_ Sharp thought, his steely eyes glaring at the former cripple with hatred and suspicion. He hated all of them. They were nothing but scum, scum that he had to a job to exterminate. And he would make sure he would succeed. He moved his mouse across the screen, pulling up a contact from his list of e-mail addresses, and typing in his message. Perhaps, we will see if she will scream at last.

And with a click, he pressed send.

Dr. Hugo Strange looked up from his book at the sudden buzz of the sent e-mail on the old computer in front of him. He paused, placing a bookmark in his book; an old, battered thing addressing the many drugs needed for certain medications, and trudged towards the laptop.

Currently, he was wearing his 'planning' outfit, a replica of Batman's costume that he had copied detail by detail from the caped crusader. His obsession with the masked vigilante burned deeply, and donning his costume often helped him to focus on his plan.

He looked at the address of the e-mail. _Well, what's the old warden up to this time, I wonder_ , he thought, clicking it open and looking at the attached file that was included with the e-mail.

The file activated, filling the screen with the footage of Becky dozing in her cell. She was leaned against the wall, her arm underneath the pillow.

Just as the clock on the camera hit midnight, a small shuddering could be seen from the vent in her cell, barely noticeable unless someone were to zoom in and brighten the image.

The vent cover slid off and was pulled into the shaft, and slowly, a thin, wiry shadow crawled from the vent and settled near the girl.

Strange looked with fascination at the scene. He had no idea that the dreaded Scarecrow had a soft spot for anyone, much less a soft spot for someone of the opposite gender. This could work to his advantage.

As the clock hit one, Strange started to grin. This would definitely work to his advantage. All he needed was to get the girl under his sway, and Scarecrow would be effectively controlled, and that would eliminate the more difficult task of finding something to lure him into his plan. Plus, if all went well, he could harness the fear gas Scarecrow often kept to use against the Batman.

"Hitting the reply button, he typed in his response to the Warden, and hit send.

Meanwhile, in a darkly lit room, Friitawa counted the number of ceiling tiles in her cell, her breath ragged and harsh. Since her battle with that little pest Becky and the loss of the Scarebeast, her condition was steadily growing worse and worse each day. Her already pale white skin was even paler, to the point of being almost transparent, with green veins worming their way through her skin. Her eyes lacked any kind of luster, and her breathing was raspy and hoarse, not to mention in places her flesh seemed to be peeling off, revealing red muscle and tissue.

The scientist knew that her time was almost up. Her revenge had been her last resort in trying to save herself, and when it failed, so did her hope of recovery. She cursed Becky, cursed her for taking her love away from her, cursed her for surviving what was supposed to be her death, and cursed her for leaving her this way.

"If only that little pest hadn't gotten up," she muttered to herself, her coughs sending shivers down her body. Oh, how she wanted to storm out of her cell and kill that little rat. Oh, how the feeling of her hands on her throat as she slowly strangled the life out of her sent ripples of pleasure through her brain. "If I had only one more chance, I would make sure that she would rue the day that she tried to stop me."

"Is that so?" said a masculine voice from the shadows outside her door.

Friitawa rolled over onto her side and squinted into the darkness. Her vision had never been good, and since her deterioration, it had gotten progressively worse until she could hardly see two feet away from herself. "Who are you?" she asked. "You don't sound like one of those moronic guards."

"That's because I'm not," the figure drawled, slowly stepping closer into the light. In the darkness, the scientist could barely make out any of the man's features, but from his light olive skin, she could tell that he was of Arabic descent.

"What do you want?" she rasped, coughing as she slowly rose to her feet. Her left leg, ironically, was the first to succumb to the deterioration affecting her body, leaving her constantly leaning against the walls for support and limping from one place to another. "You wouldn't risk escaping from whatever hidey-hole you've buried yourself in just to have a friendly chat."

The man chuckled. "Indeed. The reason I came here is to offer you a deal."

"And what could you offer me? I barely have any time left before my demise," she replied, barely able to stand. She couldn't focus, her vision spinning out of control.

"First, a gift," he said, pulling out a glowing yellow vial from his cloak. "Drink."

The woman obeyed, although she struggled to bring it to her mouth as she gulped the liquid greedily. Instantly, she could feel herself regain her balance as her leg fixed itself, skin reforming over the muscles as she felt her strength return. Her hair was now blonde, and her skin tone changed to a light tan color.

With a single pull, she wrenched the prison bars from her door, stepping through gracefully. "Now then, how long will this concoction of yours last? I doubt you did this out of the kindness of your heart, Ra's a Ghul."

Ra's frowned, his eyes narrowing at the scientist. He would need to monitor her closely. "A few hours, tops. So, you would do well to listen."

Friitawa crossed her arms. She didn't like having to be in debt to anyone, not to mention one of the most feared leaders of the underground. But she had no choice. If she didn't comply, then it was her life that she would be forfeiting. "Fine. What do I need to do?"

"I have a special plan that I am working on that will be enacted later this year. During that time, you will be working on another project of mine, a back-up plan that will be initiated should my primary plan fail."

"And in return?" she asked, her interest piqued.

The man smirked. "I will give you the cure, both for your albinism as well as the poison currently in your system."

Friitawa nodded, accepting his offer. Besides, depending on what he planned, it could also lead her directly to the pest, and then, she would have her revenge. "Very well. We have a deal."

But as their hands met in agreement, both plotted just how they would kill the other.


	4. Grapevine

**Hey, guys. I'm back. Listen, I might have to put the story on a bit of a hiatus after Halloween. I have to finish the sixth chapter, and with my current timetable, that can only happen around either Thanksgiving or the start of December. But don't worry, for Halloween, you guys are in for a big treat in the form of an extra long chapter.**

 **Again, thank you all for reading and reviewing this far. It gives me great joy that everyone is enjoying these stories so much.**

 **By the way, since I have never seen a full map of the Asylum in either the comics or the animated series, I'm using what I remember from the Arkham Asylum game to map out the setting. Same thing for Gotham city with the Arkham City map. So, if I get anything wrong, I'm sorry.**

 **Anyway, enough about me. Read on, my fellow viewers! The story awaits!**

 _Becky awoke to find herself back in the foggy forest of her dreams._ Right back where I started, _she thought, annoyed by the circular nature of her dreams. Every night, save her first, started her right back here, and every night she was confronted by the same mysterious figure masquerading in her costume._

 _She started walking, although she had no idea which direction she was going or where she was supposed to be headed._

 _As she wandered, she wondered where her doppelganger was going to pop up this time. Each time she dreamed the costume seemed to appear farther away from where she started. It was frustrating, but she supposed dreams weren't supposed to make sense, anyway._

 _She was just about to stop and go in another direction when she stumbled upon the costume in front of her._

 _"Well, about time I found you!" Becky exclaimed, her hands on her hips. "Now, what exactly do you want?"_

 _The costume was silent, floating in front of her as if it was being blown by a soft breeze._

 _"_ Follow….me… _." it seemed to whisper._

 _"What on earth are you, anyway?" she asked, reaching out her hand to touch it._

 _But just as she was about to touch it, the dreams shattered to pieces._

"DANG IT!" she shouted, startling the guard who was just about to wake her up.

"Oh, you're awake," he replied, surprised. Usually, except for Scarecrow some days, the inmates were usually still asleep by the time he got to them.

"Well, gee, how did you guess that?" she replied sarcastically, angrily rising to her feet. She was so close! If she was just a bit quicker, she could have caught that imposter in her costume. "Here," she snapped, thrusting her arms out in front of her. "Let's just get this over with."

When Becky finally arrived at the Dr. Leland's office, her nerves were fried. Her thoughts kept going in circles and she could barely focus on what the psychiatrist was saying.

"Ms. Albright? Dr. Leland asked, hoping to get her attention. She could tell by her posture and her clenched fists that the woman was stressed, and she needed for her patient to focus.

"What?" Becky snapped, startling the doctor, whose hand instinctively lowered to the security button beneath her desk. She never really had to use it all that often, but with the patients in maximum security, there was no telling what might happen on a day-to-day basis.

"I was just asking if you would like to sit down and have some tea," Leland said calmly, nudging a hot cup of chamomile tea towards her.

Becky's blinked, lowering her eyes. "Oh. Thank you." She sat down slowly, putting the warm cup of tea to her lips. "Sorry about the outburst."

"I understand. I can see that you are very stressed this morning. Would you care to share what is troubling you?"

She sighed, her finger lightly skimming the rim of the cup. "I don't know. I've just been rather stressed. To be honest, I've been having some troubling dreams lately."

Dr. Leland let out a sigh of contemplation. "And what exactly is troubling you in these dreams?"

Becky looked down, then around at the clock and back again to the ground, not meeting the therapist's eyes. She had no idea what her dreams meant or why she was having them. Every time seemed to be in a different situation and each time she met her doppelganger was in a foggy forest. But that was the only thing each of her dreams shared. Everything else was a jumbled mess. " I don't know," she said after a few minutes of silence, her arms crossed.

A small frown appeared on Dr. Leland's face. "Becky, I can't help you with your dreams if you don't tell me what they are about?"

The criminal just growled with frustration at the doctor. "That's the problem. I don't know. All that I know is that every night I see a figure wearing my costume floating in front of me, and every time I try to lift the mask to discover its identity, I'm instantly awoken. It's very frustrating." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I feel like it's taunting me."

"Hmm," Dr. Leland muttered, writing the dream down in her notes. "I see." Taking another note from her clipboard, she wrote something down before unclipping it and handing it to Becky.

Becky looked at the note, one eyebrow raised. "What's this?" she asked, trying to read the scrawled handwriting.

"I don't normally do this, but this note is permission for you to be escorted to the Botanical Garden in Arkham East. I believe that may help to relieve some of the stress that has been building up over the past few nights. Give this to the guards once this session ends."

Becky looked down at the note, and started to smile. "Thanks, doc. I didn't really think that you would do this for me."

"Your welcome, Becky," she replied. "Consider it a reward for good behavior." She glanced at the clock. "Now then, I believe our session is over."

Becky nodded, slowly rising from her seat. "Thank you for the pass," she said as the guards opened the door for her and lead her out.

The wintery air was cold and nippy by the time Becky was outside. She shivered, her light jumpsuit not made for the biting cold of the outside. The guards led her along by her handcuffs, tugging her along as she tried to keep up. She could tell by the way they moved and their posture that they were anxious to get her to her destination.

 _It's funny that I've got two tall, muscular men escorting me and they're the ones that are anxious,_ she thought, silently chuckling at the irony. _It's as if they think I'm going to break out and kill them at any second._

As they came to a terminal, the guard in front of her flashed his credentials. After a few brief moments, the steel door slid open and the three were marched through to the other side.

After another terminal, they had finally arrived at the east end of the island. Becky glanced over at the towering statue in front of her.

 _Man, what an eyesore_ , she thought, looking at the statue with disgust. _It's just praying to be targeting._

Behind the statue was the records office as well as the main offices of the administrators and the warden. The place, like much of Arkham, looked run down, the walls crawling with climbing ivy and the cement cracked in many places. It had definitely seen better days.

Soon, they came upon another building, this one much larger and much more modern than the old office buildings. It looked like a giant greenhouse, with glass windows all around to let the sunlight in. While she couldn't see much inside thanks to the opaque windows, she knew there were probably tons of plants in there. Becky had a feeling that this was the garden.

The two guards slowly opened the doors and were assaulted by a wave of pollen. They coughed, before suddenly starting to relax, their grip on Becky's chain loosening, allowing the woman to easily tug her chains away from them.

She looked at them and the dazed, lazy expressions in their eyes. "That's odd," she muttered to herself, waving a hand in front of their faces. They didn't respond, only continuing to stare off with a wide smile on their faces.

"Don't bother, Becky. They're in too much bliss to even notice you."

Becky turned around, and saw Poison Ivy lounging among the plants, her form almost indistinguishable from the lush plant life surrounding her.

"I'm actually surprised you're here. Not many people come out to the garden anymore. A shame, really," she mused.

"I'm actually more surprised that you're here. I doubt the doctors gave you permission to be here," Becky replied, a small smirk on her face.

Ivy giggled. "Maybe. But when you're beautiful and have the power to release pheromones to make men obey you're every whim, you can pretty much go anywhere you want."

"Heh, lucky you," she replied, taking a step towards the woman, only to wince at the sound of the chains rattling against the floor. "Um, is there a way you can get these things off of me? They make such an awful racket."

"Sure," Ivy said, shrugging nonchalantly. With a flick of her wrist, a vine twisted up from one of the old trees and worked its way to Becky's shackles, unlocking them, causing them to fall off and onto the floor with a clatter.

"Thanks," Becky said, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists, the red marks showing where the shackles had dug into her skin. "So, yeah, how have you been doing, Ivy?"

"As fine as I can be in the middle of winter," she said, stretching out her limbs to a more relaxed position. "But enough about me, what about you? I heard through the grapevine that you and Dr. Strawman got together."

"What?! H-How on earth do you know about that?" She screeched, her face blushing red before her hand curled into a fist. Riddler. She knew it. "I swear, if it was the Riddler…!"

Ivy laughed, her hand covering her mouth to quiet her giggles. "Not quite. I've suspected as much for a while. Although if that's the case, I can see why he's been so agitated lately. It must be killing him not to tell. But I found out from the newsfeed of you clinging to his body the night of the Scarebeast attack."

"Oh," Becky replied, her face red with embarrassment. Not that she was embarrassed for hugging him, far from it, but she had not known it had been taped. As far as she had known, there were no helicopters in the area during the attack, and any newscasters down below wouldn't have caught it due to the massive fog of fear gas. "How many people know?"

"So far? Just Harley, Riddler, and me. Most of the others don't bother watching the news unless it features them as the star of the show."

"Hmm, interesting," muttered Becky, before deciding to change the subject. "So, Dr. Leland sent me here so that I could relax. Is there any kind of flower to help with that?"

Ivy smiled. It was so rare to find someone that was willing to talk with her about her precious babies. "Of course. Come right this way," she said, leading Becky deeper into the garden. Along the way, Becky couldn't help but start to admire all the color around her. After three days of seeing nothing but the same white, grey, black, and sometimes orange, it was nice to see the vibrant blues, greens, and reds of the flowers around her.

As they found a seat between some jasmine and honeysuckle, Ivy was happy to tell her all about the plants surrounding her and their therapeutic effects.

This lasted about two hours before Becky decided to interrupt her. "Um, Ivy…"

Ivy stopped midsentence, "Yes, what is it?" she replied snippily, not liking to be interrupted in the middle of telling her the wonders the aloe plant did for the skin.

"As much as I like hearing about plants, I have to get back. The others will start to wonder if I had tried to escape," Becky said, trying to find an excuse to go without hurting Ivy's feelings. She could tell that the ex-botanist was very passionate about her work, but if she had to hear about the properties of jasmine and aloe one more time, there was going to blood, or, in Ivy's case, sap.

Ivy frowned. "If you must," she sighed, disappointed. Then, she remembered something. "Oh, before you go, Crane asked me to give you this."

Becky held out her hand as Ivy dropped a small sheet of paper wrapped around a small vial into her hand. She unwrapped the paper from the vial, staring with confusion at the bright green powder at the bottom. "What's this, Ivy?"

Ivy grinned. "Oh, just a little something for you and Johnny. Have fun tonight."

Becky blanched, her face reddening as she shoved it towards Ivy like it was a loaded bomb. "Ivy!"

The plant woman laughed as Becky glared at her. With a huff, she unrolled the piece of paper.

It only said four words, written in bright red crayon:

Breakout Tonight. Be Ready. –JC


	5. The Plan

**Happy Halloween!**

 **Oh, man, this is great. Finally, we're at this chapter. This is where things are starting to get serious. Things are really going to heat up here, and as I have mentioned in previous chapters, spoilers are around every corners, from the comics to the Arkham games and even a bit of the Animated Series.**

 **By the way, in regards to *Spoilers* Wonder City's *End Spoilers* History, I will be taking a few liberties, as some of the facts of the games lore can get in the way of the plot, despite my thorough research. So, say, instead of *Spoilers*Wonder City's*End Spoilers* construction being at the the time it did, it would probably be constructed in the same year as Arkham City.**

 **Anyway, enough about that. Back to the story!**

Friitawa tapped her foot, impatiently waiting for word from Ra's a Ghul. It had been almost two days now, and she still had not received word of what plan she was supposed to work on or even what that plan would be.

Underneath the earth, far below Gotham city, were the beginnings of a grand city the likes of which she had never seen. All around her, in various cases, were automatons that help to drill into the city, now serving as sentinels of protection from would-be intruders before they would begin drilling once again into the hard bedrock. Not that it mattered, as it was inaccessible to all but the select assassins allowed to enter. But to her, with nothing to do but wait, it felt like another prison.

She paced nervously, like a panther locked behind a glass case in a zoo. She was tired of waiting. She wanted to strike, to feel the soaking feeling of blood on her hands, to feel the fear in her enemies as she cut them down.

"Friitawa…"

She turned, a savage smile on her face as she saw Ra's a Ghul emerge from the shadowy tunnel beneath the streets of the fledgling city. Only a few knew what lie behind the fake wall, only unlocked by a scimitar belonging to one of the elite assassins that he employed, and the treasure that lay beneath. But Friitawa knew what lay behind the door, and of the ancient and marvelous power that lay beneath: The Lazarus Pit; the key to eternal life, lay nestled in a back room, guarded only by Ra's own daughter, Talia, who was just as deadly, if not more so, as any of his elite guard.

"Ah, Ra's. It's about time you finally contacted me," she said, her arms crossed.

"Indeed," the ancient man said, his form dwarfing the scientist's by a couple of inches as he came face to face with her. "Tell me, Friitawa, what does it take to control a city?"

She thought about this for a bit, before saying, "Fear."

Ra's chuckled. "Close, my dear. Fear is a large part of the equation-"

"Fear is the only part of the equation," she interrupted, her eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps for you, Miss Friitawa. But if you only have one strategy, you are most likely to always fail once someone figures it out. If you just have fear, there is likely someone who has the courage to push past the boundaries to strike you, which is what Miss Albright did that night on the rooftop, didn't she?"

Friitawa growled, her eyes flashing dangerously from beneath her blonde bangs. "Get to the point, Ra's," she hissed at him, her hands clenched into fists.

His eyes narrowed, and he clenched a hand on the scimitar at his side. "Watch your tone, Friitawa. Need I remind who is keeping you alive?"

The scientist scowled, before sighing in defeat. She would let this go, for now. It wouldn't pay to get so far and suddenly find herself dying because of her quick temper. "Very well. Now what are you trying to say?"

The terrorist's eyes gleamed, slowly sliding his hand back to his side. "As I was saying, fear isn't the only thing that you need to control a city. Power and position are just as important as the fear you cling to so dearly. Combine power with fear, and you can get anything."

"And how exactly would you provide that power, hmm? Last time, I had the combined support of Black Mask and the Scarebeast and yet I was still defeated. How exactly would you make sure that our plan succeeded when even that failed?" she said, still skeptical of his supposed plan.

"Simple," Ra's replied, a smirk spreading across his face. "Who's more powerful than Black Mask?"

Friitawa grinned. "I believe I understand, Ra's. Now, what is my mission?"

Crane flipped another page of his book, his eyes occasionally glancing up from his book to peer irritably at the guard in front of his cell. He had been denied his usual textbook of diagnoses and fears, so he had to settle for the exciting but harmless tales of _Harry Potter._

Not that he minded that much. He could see why his dear Becky enjoyed the series. But still, although he looked relaxed, or as much as he could, considering he was in Arkham, his mind was restless. He had no idea if she had gotten his message yet or the map that he had drawn with invisible ink he had created from his own blood.

He leaned over to look at the empty bed beneath him and stifled a sigh. He still had no idea where Tetch was, and to honest with himself, he was starting to worry. He had no idea if the smaller man was even alive, or what had happened to him and Alice since the night of the Scarebeast. For all he knew, the one he considered his best friend could be dead.

He shook his head. _He's probably fine. Stop worrying about it;_ he scolded himself, flipping another page with his thumb.

But, now that he had time to think about it, there was something strange going on around the Arkham. He had heard whispering and murmuring from the guards, not to mention that the previous warden, Jeremiah Arkham, was now in custody and a new warden had been appointed as head of the Asylum.

He had a bad feeling about this new Warden. Something was up with him, and not just with his pompous manner and old-fashioned views. Something sinister lurked beneath his eyes, something that spelled danger for both him and everyone locked in the Asylum. Not to mention, on his insomnia-induced wandering through the vents, he had seen him conversing with another psychologist that worked here called Dr. Strange. That man could not be trusted, and he would bet his associate couldn't either.

He rubbed his eyes, adjusting the glasses on the tip of his nose, his gaze drifting towards the analog clock in the hall above him. 7:50. _Four more hours to go,_ he thought, glancing at the vent in his room. Soon, if all went well, he and Becky would be free.

Meanwhile, back in her cell, Becky studied the paper before her, analyzing it.

 _Why would Crane just write a message like this? I mean, he could have just passed the words onto Ivy and be done with it. But no, he chose to write it here. There must be more than just this,_ she thought, turning the paper over, around, and even sideways, yet she couldn't see the reason why Jonathan had given this to her. She knew how valuable paper was in the Asylum, and from the ragged edges near the side, she could tell he had torn it out of a book. And with such a love for books, Crane would never just tear out a page unless it was incredibly important.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Placing the paper under the light, she lightly withdrew a fractured piece of glass from the side of her cell door, probably broken off during one of the many escape attempts by the previous cellmate.

Piece in hand, and careful to keep herself from being cut, she held the glass up to the light, focusing the light on the piece of paper in front of her. She gasped as she saw the brownish-red ink start to appear on the back of the page.

Quickly snatching it up, Becky hurriedly shielded herself from view, allowing her to read the paper in peace. She could see that it was some kind of map of the Penitentiary, containing hidden vent shafts between the cells and the outside area of the prison.

She looked at where her cell was marked, and began to plan out where she would go. She needed to go once lights out was called and she also needed a way to fool the guards into thinking she was in her cell once she escaped. It wouldn't do to be caught before she even had a chance to get out of the building.

But how would she fool the guards long enough to make her escape?

That's when she hit upon an idea.

That night, as the guards made their rounds, Crane was ready. His double was in place, a couple of pillows he had tied together to look like his body and face, and the vent cover was already loosened and ready to pry off. All he needed now was for the guard to pass by and he would be ready to go.

 _1… 2…. 3… 4…_ he counted in his head, watching as the guard paced down the hall, waiting with bated breath as he passed him by, letting out a sigh of relief once he was gone.

Pulling the vent cover off, he squeezed into the narrow opening, pulling the vent cover up as he went. Slowly, he crawled through the vent, careful to keep his footsteps muffled. He stopped at an intersection, turning left and heading towards Becky's cell. He would check to make sure she was already on the move before heading towards the supply room to gather his costume and Becky's cane.

He looked through the slits in the vent, peering carefully down at her bed. He could see the pillow dummy that Becky had prepared was in place, and took it as a sign that she was on the move.

Taking a right down the next shaft, he headed towards the supply room.

Becky looked out through the grate, making sure that none of the guards had seen her before sliding the cover back on, crawling through the narrow shaft. She grunted softly, not used to being in this position as she army-crawled through the vents, the map clutched in her fists as she navigated the maze of tunnels before her.

At an intersection, she stopped to check her location, her ears perked for any sound that might be coming her way. She hoped she would run into Jonathan before she made it out. It would help to have someone familiar with the layout of this place, as well as someone that would have her back if she was caught.

As she placed her knees upon one of the individual panels, it slipped off, nearly causing her to loose her balance and fall to the floor below her before she caught the rim of the next panel. Quickly, lest any of the guards decided to pass by, she quickly clambered back up to the vents, uttering a sigh of relief.

She smiled as she saw a light up ahead. Perhaps that would be her way out.

Crane looked at the supply closet with frustration, its contents stacked as far as the eye could see with countless stacks of costumes, canes, hats, and any other assorted accessories that had been confiscated from the Rogues by the institution. He stalked past a few sets, hastily rifling through clothes looking for his and Becky's costumes.

It would be easier to blend in with them on once they had gotten out of the Asylum. The orange jumpsuits they currently wore were dead giveaways that they were escapees and would result in a rather easy capture for the authorities and Batman. But with their costumes' darker colors, it would be easier to blend into the shadows and make their escape far easier, especially since they possessed very little brawn to force their way out.

He heard a sound coming from the vent he had previously entered, and he froze, his eyes peering fearfully up at the vent. If the Bat had gotten in…

But he had nothing to fear, as a few minutes later his partner-in-crime dropped down from the vent.

"Huh? This isn't the outside," she muttered, looking all around her at the cluttered room.

"Becky?" Crane said, peeking out from behind a coat rack full of costumes.

"Oh, there you are, Jon," she replied, running towards him. "How far are we from the entrance?"

"Not far, but hush," he replied, putting a finger to his lips. "We need to move quickly. Somewhere in this mess are our costumes and your cane. Help me look for it before the guards get here."

She nodded, hurriedly digging through the costumes in front of her. She found Edward's emerald suit-jacket, Harley's Harlequin costume, and even what she presumed to be the burned remains of one of Two-Face's pants, but not a sign of her costume or Jonathan's.

Looking around, she smiled as she spotted her cane squished between two of the Riddler's golden question mark canes.

"Found the cane, Jon," she hissed, waving it up into the air for him to see.

"Good," he whispered back. "And I found our costumes. Now, all we need to find is our masks."

That's when he heard the pounding of feet and the shrill squeak of the door opening as guards came pouring in, quickly surrounding the two criminals, their guns raised and ready to shoot.

He cursed. This wasn't part of the plan. He had hoped that the pillow dummy would fool them into believing that they were sound asleep in their rooms, but it seemed that luck was not on his side tonight. He backed up, his shoulder touching Becky's as he glared piercingly at the guards.

"What do we do, Jon?" Becky whispered into his ear, her eyes wide with fear at the guns pointed at her and her love. She had no idea how they would get out of this without being shot dead.

He smirked, quickly slipping a canister of fear gas into her hand. "On the count of three, we rush them."

The guards eyed them nervously, cocking their guns as they prepared for what the couple would throw at them.

"One…"

The guards inched closer.

"Two…"

Becky glanced at Jonathan, taking a deep breath and preparing to run. She hoped this plan of his worked.

"Three…"

As one, they rushed the guards, fear gas streaming from the canisters in their hands as the guards opened fire. Jonathan rolled to the side, barely avoiding a stray bullet from one of the guards as he glanced at Becky, making sure that she was still alive. This was an incredibly risky endeavor, and he really hoped that they would get out of here alive.

A flash of pain engulfed him as a bullet struck him in the shoulder, causing him to yelp, clutching his shoulder to try to staunch the bleeding.

"Jon!" Becky yelped, her eyes glowing green with anger as she plowed into the guards, her fear giving her extra strength as she fought to reach him. With a snarl, she threw off the guards trying to hold her back as she reached out for her partner, not even noticing the fact that several bullets had pierced her shoulders and arms, blood covering the back of her jumpsuit as she took his hand and ran for the exit, her feet flying through the halls and corridors of Arkham as she plowed through the guards blocking her path towards the outside doors.

Jonathan panted, his right hand clutching his shoulder as he struggled to keep up with her. Outside, he could hear the loud alarm bells clamoring as they made their escape, his eyes clenched in pain. He had no idea where they were going or how far away the guards were from them, but knew that they were almost past the gate.

"Stay with me, Jon. We're almost out!" Becky shouted above the noise, her hand clenching his like he was her lifeline, hurtling through the rusty, iron gates of Arkham Asylum and into the night.


	6. Light's out

**Hey, guys. I'm sorry I am so late on this one. It's been a crazy couple of weeks, and Thanksgiving is perhaps the only break I've gotten that didn't involve having to do a project of some kind or another. I just needed a bit of a break to readjust and regain my sanity before the finals started. Thank you all for your support over these past few months. I know my schedule has been sporadic. Hopefully, my schedule next semester won't be so time-consuming.**

 **Anyways, onwards, my fellow viewers!**

 **P.S. - I don't really know how to dress bullet wounds, and all the advice I got online was to get to a hospital, so I did the best I could.**

It was raining by the time Crane and Becky had stopped for the night, the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the metal rooftop over their heads providing a soothing melody as they tried to rest.

The abandoned, ramshackle hut near the docks was not the roomiest of hideaways, but it would do for now while they tried to recover. Luckily, the former residents had provided them with a medical kit, so they could clean their wounds without fear of infection.

"Hold still, Jon!" Becky said, struggling to keep the former professor's arm and shoulder still as she applied antiseptic to the wound. "If you keep wiggling around like this, I can't prevent you from getting infected and possibly getting worse."

"I've survived much worse than this, Becky! I'll be fine," he growled, wincing at the stinging sensation in his shoulder. The bullet was still lodged in there, but they could do nothing about it until they could find something to pull it out. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped and the wound didn't look infected, so if all went well, they would bandage it up and then head over to Hush to see if he could help pull it out. If not, then Becky would have to do it for him, and as much as he trusted her, he didn't really want her to try to dig the bullet out herself, especially since the bullet was in a very sensitive muscle that made it incredibly painful to move his arm.

"Not if you don't get that bullet out, you won't," she retorted, unwrapping a bandage from the kit and wrapping it around his shoulder. "There. All done."

He glanced up at the now cauterized wound, wincing slightly as he shifted his shoulder. "Hmm, not bad." He glanced in her direction. "What about you? I'm sure that I wasn't the only one that was wounded."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, looking away from him.

He eyed her suspiciously. "Becky, tell me the truth."

"I am telling you the truth!" she said snappily.

"No, you're not! Turn around," he commanded.

"Jonathan…."

"Now, Becky!"

She sighed, before turning around. The back of her top was stained red with blood, several holes dotting the torn fabric. He pulled up the top of the shirt, ignoring an offended protest from Becky, and examined her back. He couldn't see where the bullets had entered, but perhaps the blood obscured it.

Picking up a spare water bottle from the cooler at his side, he poured some of the water onto a spare cloth he had found and started rubbing off the dried blood from her back.

"Are you quite done yet?" she replied tiredly, her head starting to droop. The rush of escaping from Arkham seemed to be wearing off, and she felt unbelievably tired.

"That's strange," he murmured.

"What's strange?" she replied, craning her head to see what he was talking about.

"There don't appear to be any wounds."

"I told you I was fine," she replied.

"That's the point. From the blood on your shirt, I could have sworn that you would have a wound or even a large scrape from that attack. But there's nothing, nothing at all," he said.

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I mean nothing, Becky," he replied, starting to pack the supplies back into the medical kit. "There's no scars, no wounds, no nothing. It's just perfectly smooth skin." _Very beautiful skin, too,_ he thought silently.

Her eyes widened. "Wait… you said there were no scars?"

"Yes," he replied. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"When I was twelve, I had corrective back surgery to treat my scoliosis," she said, feeling stunned. Scars didn't just disappear. "There should have been a scar there. Are you saying that somehow my body just…healed over the tissue?"

"Yes," he replied, looking over at her with concern. There was no way that scars just disappeared. Something must have happened, either over their time in prison or…"Becky, how much do you remember about that night?"

"You mean the one when you became the Scarebeast?"

He sighed. He hated remembering the night that he had lost control. "Yes, that one."

She closed her eyes, replaying the frayed tapes of the night's events in her mind. "I don't remember much. All I remember was fighting Friitawa and losing, then being thrown off the building and hitting my head."

"Are you sure you don't remember anything else?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Very well. We'll rest here for the remainder of the night, then we'll move on to the hideout."

She nodded sleepily, half dozing already. "Oh, and Jon…"

"What?"

She smiled. "…Thank you."

He smiled at her. "You're welcome, Becky," he replied, placing a soft kiss on her temple. "Get some sleep. I'll take the first watch."

As she curled up, her curly hair falling around her shoulders, she finally fell into a deep slumber.

Crane crouched on the edge of the roof, his eyes peering into the darkness for any sign of movement. Police sirens wailed in the distance, no doubt looking for him or any other escaped convicts that had managed to elude them. Every so often, he would look through the window at his companion's sleeping form, assured that she was still sleeping as soundly as ever.

He ducked out of sight as a GCPD helicopter flew over him, its light shining down briefly on the building before turning away. He let out a sigh of relief once he could hear the loud whirring of the blades spinning away from his location. It would not due to get caught just as they had escaped.

" ** _Anxious, Johnny-boy?_** "

He whipped around, grasping the handle of his extendable scythe from the hidden compartment in his left boot, his form crouched and ready should anyone approach. He instantly lowered it, however, as he saw the figure encroached behind him.

The figure appeared to be in his costume, its long, skinny form mimicking his own in every way, except instead of his usual mask, which was quite conical, this one wore what looked to be a hybrid of his own mask and a gas mask.

" ** _What? Thought I was the Bat?_** " the figure, whom Crane often called by his alter ego, Scarecrow, chuckled, taking a perch near the edge of the roof. " ** _Relax. As far as I know, the Bat's busy on the other side of town._** "

Crane frowned, taking a seat beside the costumed doppelganger. He couldn't exactly remember when he had first heard his costume talking to him or when it had began to follow him around like a shadow or even whether what he was seeing was a hallucination brought on by his once-habitual dose of fear gas he had given himself or if it had always been with him since his childhood in Georgia. But ever since, whenever he was alone with his thoughts, it would find him.

"What do you want?" he growled, glaring at the imaginary man. There was once a time where he had welcomed the figure with open arms. But now, he really wished it would just disappear.

" ** _Well, now, that's a way to treat a friend. Am I not welcome anymore?_** " the Scarecrow asked sarcastically, a lit cigarette appearing in its hand, the smoke snaking its way through the air.

"Not especially, no," he said testily, wincing as pain surged from his shoulder,

" ** _Oh, don't be like that, Johnny-boy,_** " the figure replied, clapping a hand on his uninjured shoulder. " ** _What would you do without me? Face it, you would be nothing without me._** "

Crane shook his head sadly. Perhaps it was true. He honestly didn't know anymore. Everything was so confusing. Just over a week ago, he had thought that fear was the answer for everything; the reason life was so meaningful, the reason why people continued to cling to life so tightly. But now, he was starting to have his doubts. Certainly, fear held power; his childhood and most of his adult life was a testament to that fact, but he was starting to question the absolutes of that power.

"…Maybe you're right…" he answered softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He had made his choice long ago, and now, after 10 years of crime and terror, he knew he could never go back. Gotham wouldn't let him go back, and even if he could run away from her, Batman would make sure he was put back in his place. It was just the nature of things, he knew.

The costume smiled. " ** _I always am, Johnny. I always am._** " Its eyes then caught a flash of color on the dark streets below. " ** _Say, isn't that your little mouse scurrying around in the dark?_** "

Crane instantly leapt to his feet, his eyes darting towards a figure running down the street, the streetlights illuminating the soft blues and grey of her costume as she ran.

"Becky," Jonathan called, shimmying down the narrow drainpipe that he had climbed up, and running towards her. "Becky, what are you doing out here?"

Becky didn't respond. She just continued on her way, not even seeming to notice his presence. Her eyes were blank and unseeing, as if she was in a trance. As she passed him, she seemed to glance over to her side, mumbling something under her breath.

"Becky? Becky!" he cried, finally getting ahead of her, blocking her path. "What's going on? Why are you out this late?"

She still didn't respond.

"Becky, please, you're scaring me. And I don't scare easily," Crane pleaded, only to fall on deaf ears. He shook her lightly. "Becky, please answer me!"

At his touch, she seemed to stir, her eyes half-lidded, as she seemed to struggle to stay standing. "Jonathan?" she murmured, shaking her head out of the fogginess that had previously engulfed her mind. She had no idea how she had gotten here, or why Crane seemed to be so startled. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Park Row, I think," he said, quickly looking at his surroundings through squinted eyes. The landmarks that helped him identify Park Row were obscured, with not even the lights shinning to help him see the shops. Even the streetlights were out, leaving the entire place cloaked in darkness. "The power must be out."

"It seems like it," Becky replied, struggling to not trip over anything as she followed Crane into the alley. "You said Hush lives around this part of town, right?"

"Yes," Crane said, his eyes scanning the sky and his ears peeled for any sign or sound of the Bat. He would rather not get caught right now, especially with the lights out. A Bat with the light's out would be almost impossible to fight against or flee. "He should be near here, unless he decided to move hideouts again."

"Let's just hope he's still here, then. This darkness is starting to make me anxious," she replied, glancing furtively around with him. Having been born and raised in Gotham, she was used to the bright, neon lights of the city. To have such darkness here, especially for so long, worried her greatly.

Crane was just about to open his mouth when he heard a soft whisper coming from the door to his right. "Psst, guys, get in here! Quickly!" Hush whispered from the safety of his hideout.

Without another word, the two followed the man inside. Unlike the darkened city, the lights inside Hush's hideout were still alit, a small generator in the corner humming steadily, keeping the power on.

"So, you were caught in the blackout, I take it. Must have been your lucky night to leave Arkham," Hush said, shutting the door and locking the numerous locks behind it.

"Not as lucky as it could have been, Thomas," Crane sighed, wincing as he rolled up the sleeves of his costume. He was certain the wound was swollen. It wouldn't hurt this much if it wasn't swollen. Thankfully, because of Becky's treatment, the wound wasn't infected. "A few of the idiot guards decided to try to put a few holes in us before we could escape."

"Heh, figures," Hush snorted, turning away from them as he cleaned the syringe in his hands. "Now, I need you to take off your shirt, Professor."

Crane sighed. "Fine," he huffed, reluctantly removing his orange prison shirt. He winced as he pulled it over his head, the coarse material rubbing against the swollen skin.

Becky struggled not to wince as she saw the massive amount of scar tissue that covered his torso. It seemed that every inch of his back and chest were covered with scars, with not a piece of smooth skin in sight. Some she could tell were from his past in Georgia, such as the chunks taken out of his arms and neck by the crows, but others, such as the large slash running down his back she could tell he had gotten during his time as a criminal.

"Enjoying the view?" Crane quipped sarcastically, causing Becky to blush and look away.

"N-No! I'm just surprised that you have that many scars, that's all," she said quickly. She had only had a brief glance during her attempt to cauterize and bandage his wounds, but she had not seen the full extent of his scars.

He only snorted, enjoying the numb feeling in his shoulder as the syringe pierced his skin and released its contents. "You get used to it, after awhile," he murmured, his eyes closing as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

She smiled softly, brushing a bit of hair from his eyes, before looking up at Hush. "Is he going to be okay?"

Hush nodded. "He's going to be fine. The wound's just swollen from him using his arm." He was just about to reach for his scalpel when it occurred to him that he wasn't alone. "Oh, and if you're squeamish, you want to look away."

"I can take it," she said bravely, her furrowed, worried brow casting a shadow across her face. As much as she loved Jonathan, she still didn't trust Hush. The surgeon, although he provided necessary treatment and sometimes shelter for both of them, seemed very sinister beneath his bandaged mask. She had a feeling that if she wasn't with Jonathan, he would not hesitate to kill her, if need be.

Hush looked over at her, cocking one of his eyebrows at her tenseness. "You seem tense, Becky. Anything on your mind?" he asked, the bullet safely plucked from Jonathan's flesh by the pair of tweezers in his hand.

"You could say that," she muttered, rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes. She felt so exhausted. Despite the little bit of sleep she had managed to catch, she still felt like a train had run over her. She looked down at him, nudging him slightly. "Isn't he supposed to wake up by now?"

"Usually," Hush said, carefully taking his bloody latex gloves by the cuffs and pulling them off. "But the good professor usually doesn't get much sleep even on the best of nights. So, I did him a favor, for old time's sake."

"How long have you known each other, anyway? You act like you've known him your entire life," Becky asked, her eyes still on the Scarecrow's still form. She couldn't help but smirk at his sleeping form; his arms flopped out to his side, a slight bit of drool on his face, much like a drunken college kid that had passed out on the floor.

"Not quite. I've only known him for ten years or so, ever since he taught me in the University," he said, pulling up two chairs, before offering her one. Becky shook her head, and he shrugged and put one back. "He helped me out during a difficult period of my life. You know he actually coined my moniker?"

"Really?" she exclaimed, interested. She had always thought that the new villains always chose their own names. It seemed quite uncommon that other villains would come up with a name for someone else.

"Yeah. It comes from the nursery rhyme. You know, 'Hush, little baby, don't you…' Becky, are you okay?"

Becky didn't respond. Her body froze, her breathing quickening and her heart racing. For there, just behind Hush's back, was the doppelganger in her costume. It smiled leeringly at her, its eyes glowing a poisonous green beneath its masked face. Not to mention that its limp form and splayed body looked like the man she had accidentally killed, something that still haunted her dreams and would probably never leave.

Then, suddenly, one of its hands moved upwards, and pointed at her.

Her breath caught in her throat, her whole body trembling. _This can't be real_ , she thought, her eyes trained on the figure, as if it would disappear at any second if she looked away. _That…That thing's only a dream! It can't possibly be real_.

Suddenly, a hand came up in front of her face, shaking her out of her stupor.

"Becky, is everything alright? You look like you just saw a ghost," Hush said, a tinge of worry in his voice.

She looked behind him, only to find that the lying figure was gone.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she said, hesitantly, before yawning. "I probably just need some rest."

"Probably."

With another yawn, she waved him goodnight as she stumbled off towards the lone cot, falling into a dreamless sleep once her body hit the covers.


	7. Suspicion

**Hey, guys. Happy Late Christmas to everybody. So sorry I couldn't post sooner. Not only did I have a long vacation spending time with my family and getting a new laptop, I also had a funeral to go to. Between those and getting distracted by shiny new games and books, it's kinda been hard to concentrate. But no worries! I'm back, I have a relaxed school schedule, and have quite a few things that I'm cooking up in the next few chapters, including some familiar faces for Becky to encounter**.

 **So, enjoy!**

Everything was dark as Friitawa made her way out of her little underground hovel that she called home.

 _Perfect_ , she thought, surveying the darkness before her. While to many, the complete darkness would be off-putting; the darkness felt comforting to her, much like an embrace of an old friend. She started running down the streets, her movements precise and agile, with not a sign of hesitation. Her entire life, save for a few moments, were spent in the dark. As an albino woman, her sensitivity to light often kept her from ever crawling out into the sunlight. But now, she was in her element.

She smiled, inhaling the cold, wintry air. She relished the feeling of the icy wind, her coat fluttering behind her like a cape, her fingers nimbly grabbing onto a ladder rung and climbing it up onto the rooftops.

With a small hop, she crossed over to the other building, then another. She had a job to do, after all, and it wouldn't pay to doddle. She looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. On it was written the address and name of her target, a man named Armand Lorenz, who just so happened to be the mayor of Gotham this year, whose house just so happened to be in the Park Row district.

 _It's about time that those robots did something useful,_ she thought to herself. The automatons had accidentally hit an underground transformer while digging, causing many of the robots to short-circuit, and a few unlucky ones to explode. She knew it would probably set back Ra's main plan a few days, but she didn't care. After all, that was Ra's problem, not hers, and the opportunity to take what she wanted was way too convenient to pass up.

She stopped, finally locating the prey below her. With a quick kick, she shattered the glass, startling the man as she jumped down, landing perfectly in the middle of the table where the man was eating.

The man, who appeared to be in his mid to late 50's, stumbled backwards, nearly loosing his balance on the chair he had previously sat. "W-What is the meaning of this? Who are you? Who sent you? If it was Black Mask…"

She laughed at the name of her former lover/employer. "Black Mask? Are you serious? Why would I want to continue working for some has-been like him, when I can get so much more out of someone else?"

"T-Then, w-who are you working for?" the mayor asked, his flabby cheeks starting to go pale with fright.

She grinned, enjoying the frightened expression on the mayor's face. Oh, how she loved her job. "Now, why on Earth would I tell you something like that? Do you actually think I'm as dumb as the ordinary goons that kidnap you? You have no idea who you're dealing with."

With a lunge, she was right in his face, her lips dangerously close. "Besides, you won't have much time left once I'm done with you," she said, breathing out her nerve toxin breath on her victim, paralyzing him in his seat, unable to move or to shout as she raised her scythe into the air.

Later that night, she returned to the underground city, her victim's blood splashed across her face and shirt, a savage and contented grin on her face as she strode through the main street of the town.

Her taste for blood sated, she looked around for the secret entrance to the Lazarus Pit. Taking out her scythe, she inserted it into the lock near an unassuming brick wall, causing the wall to slide open, revealing an entrance below the city streets. Soon, she was at the gates of the outer layer of the Lazarus Pit. With a quick tug, the doors swung creakily open, revealing the inner layer of the building, and the gates into the innermost sanctum, where the Lazarus Pit.

But before she could take another step, several of Ra's guards surrounded her, their scimitars pointed towards her heart. "Halt!" their leader hissed, her eyes narrowed at the albino. "State your business or be prepared to be run through!"

Friitawa chuckled, "Now, what would be the fun in that? It's not like I'm much of a _real_ challenge for you, especially since you have me surrounded." Her eyes glinted in the shadows, her feet sliding into a lunging position. "But if you insist, then I'll indulge you."

The assassins lunged forward, their swords nearing her heart.

"That's enough!"

In mid-lunge, the assassins backed off, their swords raised upright and held in front of their faces, two of them parting as a lone woman strides towards Friitawa, her skin-tight outfit leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

Friitawa's smirk turned into a scowl. "Well, if it isn't Ra's little puppet. Come to check to on daddy dearest, Talia?" she said sarcastically, her eyes barely disguising the hatred behind them. If it were up to her, she would have gladly ripped the brown-haired bimbo apart piece by piece and with as much savagery as possible. But, to her frustration, she couldn't, not if she wanted a chance to save her alliance with Ra's, or her life.

Talia narrowed her eyes. She had no idea why her father kept the albino on such a long leash, much less allowed her to live. She posed as much of a danger as a giant black widow spider, and with the same traitorous tendencies to boot. A person like that was a high risk to keep around, much less allow inside their fortress and into their plans. But, unfortunately, she couldn't defy her father's wishes, not if she wanted to live, anyway.

With a wave of her hand, she dismissed her guards, the assassins running off into the shadows. "There'd better be a good reason why you are here," she growled, arms crossed and a scowl creasing her face.

"Actually, I just so happen to have two," she said, her sly smile returning to her face.

"Oh, really? And those would be?" Talia replied, one eyebrow quirked in interest.

"The first part of the plan is complete. But you probably figured that out already," she said, gesturing to her blood-soaked jacket and shirt.

"Good," Talia replied, turning away from her. "And the second?"

Friitawa chuckled. "I need more of that serum. We wouldn't want daddy dearest to lose his most powerful ally, would we?"

Talia gritted her teeth, her hands clasped into fists. "Fine, I will get some," she spat, her voice lowered to a whisper. "But this is your last warning, Friitawa. Next time I catch you in the inner sanctum again, I will kill you."

Friitawa laughed. "I'd like to see you try. But I'll heed your words, for now." And with a twirl of her overcoat, she was gone.

Talia shook her head, glaring at where the woman had just been before spinning on her heels and walking away.

Jonathan sleepily awoke from his uncomfortable slumber on the laboratory table, his neck popping loudly as he sat up. He stretched, wincing as he felt the aftereffects of the escape. _I'm getting too old for this,_ he thought grumpily, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.

He looked around, his eyes trying to blink away the foggy sleepiness. Only one thing was on his mind right at that moment.

Coffee.

With a noise that resembled the moan of a zombie, he shambled into Hush's kitchen, ignoring the frozen faces staring at him from the fridge as he opened the door, desperately searching for the water for his coffee.

"Where'd he put it?" he mumbled absentmindedly to himself, shuffling through the various containers of pickled remains, digging through the massive refrigerator in hopes of the pure, colorless liquid gold at the end of the freezing, white rainbow.

All the while Becky and Hush stared in shock and a combination of horror and bemusement. "He…does know that that refrigerator is for frozen cadavers, right?" Becky asked, her eyes widening as a pickled ear flew her way, narrowly avoiding it as Hush caught the container before it could smash into her face.

"Um…Professor?" Hush asked hesitantly, approaching the man cautiously. One false move, and he would possibly be gassed. He didn't know if the man had any fear gas on him, but he wouldn't put it past him.

"What?" he hissed, turning his head to look at Hush with an expression that would likely freeze the rest of Mars.

Hush gulped. "U-um…. you-you're coffee's is already brewing."

"…Oh," Crane replied, rubbing his eyes, finally seeming to come out of his daze. He adjusted his crooked glasses, finally noticing which fridge he was actually digging in. "My apologies, Thomas, I wasn't thinking straight."

Hush chuckled. "No problem, Professor. Just try not to hit your girlfriend while you search," he replied, putting the jar back into its proper place in the fridge.

Crane sighed, annoyed. He wished people would quit asking him if he was in a relationship. "Don't you have better things to do than to wonder about our relationship?"

"Yeah, Hush. I mean, I wouldn't take you for the type that worried about relationships of any kind, much less ours," Becky piped up, arms crossed as she stepped closer to Crane, her shoulders hunched defensively against his statement.

Hush just smirked, shaking his head as he leaned against the kitchen table. "Now, you of all people should know better, Becky. Part of my job as a strategist is to study patterns in the people I meet, whether it is their behavior or their lifestyle. And even a blind man could tell that something is obviously going on with you two," he replied, gesturing to the two of them. "So, _forgive_ me for being a little bit curious about the newest member of the Rogues suddenly being trusted by the most mistrusting person this side of Gotham, especially when it comes to revealing personal scars."

Crane blushed and looked away. "Is it really that obvious?"

"About as obvious as Batman in broad daylight."

Crane was about to make a snappy reply when a high-pitched beeping interrupted his next thought. "Ah, finally!" he exclaimed with relief, rushing over to the coffee maker like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Anyway," Becky said, changing the subject. "Have you heard anything about Jervis?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. He must have gotten out of Gotham the night Crane was captured. Speaking of which, I heard that Friitawa broke out of Blackgate two nights back."

"What?!" Both Becky and Crane cried, with Crane almost spitting out the coffee he was drinking.

"But how? She would be dead by the time she broke out," Crane said, banging his mug onto the table, his hot beverage dangerously close to sloshing out.

"What do you mean, dead? She looked perfectly fine to me," Becky asked, confused.

Crane frowned. "It's very complicated. To put it simply, the mutagen that she has in her bloodstream is unstable, and so it constantly tries to keep itself stable by leeching various chemicals and minerals from her body. In return, it puts out a constant stream of adrenaline and poisons the carbon dioxide she breathes out, which she uses to paralyze her prey before she decides to kill them."

Becky shuddered. She was thankful that she wasn't close enough to Friitawa during their fight to experience that sensation. To watch powerlessly as you saw your own death was a very frightening concept to imagine.

"I quite agree," he said, noticing her tense body language. "But as long as she's not making any move to try to harm either of us, then we should be alright for now. We should instead focus on trying to get back to the lair before that annoying Bat discovers it." He turned to Hush. "You don't happen to have a disguise we could use, do you? Preferably one that isn't a short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt," he asked, hopefully.

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Well, gee, what do you think?" Crane quipped sarcastically, his arms folded and a cheeky grin on his face.

Hush sighed, a small frown on his face. "I'll see what I have," he said, trudging out of the room and into a small closet.

After a few minutes of wrestling with the sweaters that Hush had provided, the two were once again off onto the streets of Gotham.

Although Crane appreciated the warmth the sweater provided, he disagreed with the image on it. "Did I really have to get the one with Santa on it?"

"Hey, it could be worse. At least you have to long pants with your costume. I had to borrow pants just to prevent my legs from freezing off," Becky replied, trying to remain optimistic. The pants she was given to hid her costume's skirt was very bunchy around the waist area, and no matter how tight she pulled the strings, she couldn't get it to stay up.

"Hmm, true. Remind me later to buy leggings for your costume," he said, already making notes in his head for a winter version of her costume.

She chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't let you forget."

Suddenly she stopped.

Crane looked over his shoulder at her. "Becky, what's wrong?"

Becky shivered beneath her sweater. In front of her, blocking the way was the same impostor from her dreams. It stood straight and still, its glowing green eyes just staring at her sinisterly.

"Becky, what are you staring at?" Jonathan asked, trying to follow her gaze.

"Can't you see it?"

"See what?"

"The person in front of you. Look!" She cried, pointing towards the figure.

It reacted with a cocked head, its eternal smile plastered across its face.

"I don't see anything, Becky," he said, looking bewildered. He usually had to put up with this kind of stuff from Tetch, but Becky?

"What are you talking about? It's right…" she turned to look back, only to find empty space. "…There."

Crane just huffed. They needed to move quickly. The police could come by at any moment, and it would be very humiliating for them to catch the two standing there gawking at empty space like idiots. "Look, whatever it is, it can wait. Right now, all that matters is getting to the hideout and planning our next attack. Now, come on!" he said, already starting to walk away.

Becky sighed, following him, only to stop and look back one last time before hurrying to catch up.


	8. Favor

**Hey, guys. I'm back. I'm sorry I haven't been posting anything lately. College, as usual, strikes again, and it's hard to think of new ideas for the story when I'm stressed by assignments. Between that and the new games I got over Christmas, it's been hard to concentrate on finishing the story. But don't worry, it will be finished. I try to promise myself that I never leave my stories unfinished and I try to keep my promises.**

 **And I nicknamed the kitten Crow. Wouldn't want him to be mistaken for someone else, would we?**

 **And for those who don't know, espantajo is Spanish for boogeyman.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was late in the evening by the time they had made it back to the lair, and both Jonathan and Becky were exhausted.

"I thought you said that you knew a shortcut back here!" Becky huffed, her fluffy hair looking quite ruffled.

"I did," Crane said, bolting the door shut and leaning on it as something tried to pound its way through. "But I didn't expect Bane to follow us home hoping for handouts."

"You didn't steal any Venom recently, did you?" Becky asked, joining him in trying to hold down the door.

"No, did you?"

"No."

"Then why the heck is he here?" Becky cried, bracing herself as Bane's fist pounded the door.

"I have no idea!" Jonathan yelled over the pounding, trying to keep himself steady as another tremor-like punch hit the door.

"Scarecrow, I know you're in there, as well as the bruja!" Bane roared, his fists leaving several dents in the steel of the door.

"Bruja?" Becky mouthed, unfamiliar with the word.

"It means witch, as well as a few other choice words," Crane mouthed back, before turning back and sliding the eye slot of the door open. "What do you want, Bane?"

"You know what I want, espantajo. The Venom! Where is it?" Bane demanded, his glowing green eyes glaring at Crane beneath his luchador mask. Currently, he was crouched beside the door, as his seven-foot-tall frame was not quite what the builders had in mind when they set up the slot.

"How should I know? I haven't used it in my experiments in years."

"You lie. I give you one more chance. Tell me where it is or I- "

"Hold it right there, Bane!"

Crane quickly closed the latch as the sounds of a fight ensued from behind the door. He recognized the voice of Batman above him, and he knew if the man found out that they were inside, they would be trapped and brought back to Arkham before they could even think of an escape.

He put a finger to his lips, signaling Becky to follow him. She nodded and obeyed as they made their way into the basement.

Once inside, Crane pressed a button near the door, causing it to close and seal itself shut. He was thanking his lucky stars that this lair was once one of the locations of Falcone's chemical labs. Otherwise, the doors wouldn't be nearly as protective as they were.

"That was close," he said softly, letting out a sigh of relief. "If Bane had mentioned us…"

She nodded, already knowing what the outcome would be. "Yeah," she sighed nervously, waiting with bated breath for the pounding of fists on the doors. She almost jumped when a small meow sounded near her legs.

"Oh, it's only you, Crow," she said, picking up the kitten. "How'd you get down here?"

The kitten only meowed lovingly, purring as she scratched him behind the ears.

"So," Jonathan said, rolling to face her in his small rolling chair. "What was going on back there?"

"What do you mean?" Becky asked, the kitten in her hands climbing up onto her shoulders as she sat down, its greenish-yellow eyes staring at the Scarecrow with contempt that only a cat could master.

"I mean back there, in the alley. You were acting as if you saw a ghost."

She chuckled. "That wouldn't surprise me, really. Not with everything that goes on in Gotham." Her grin soon turned into a small frown. "But I'm not just seeing things, am I? I mean, you've got to see it, too, right?"

He looked at her quizzically.

"Look, I'm not crazy!" she cried, the kitten jumping off of her as she rose from her seat. "I saw what I saw."

"I never said you were," Crane said calmly, as he watched her quietly sit back down. "I'm sure there is a logical explanation for what is going on."

"Thank you," she said, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ears. "There has to be some reason why I keep seeing this thing."

"Wait, this isn't the first time you've seen this?" Crane questioned, one eyebrow raised.

Becky shook her head. "I've been seeing this thing everywhere, not just today. I keep dreaming about it as well."

"How long have you been seeing this, Becky?" he asked, a tinge of concern in his voice.

She rubbed her temples, feeling a bit of a headache coming on. "I don't know, about since the second night in Arkham. Look, will you stop with the questioning for a little bit? It's been a long day. And if Batman was still here, he would have probably dropped down on us by now."

Crane sighed. "Hrm, I guess you have a point. But first, I want to show you something." He hopped up from his perch on the seat. "Wait here," he said, ducking behind one of the tables as he pulled out what looked like gloves.

Becky wasn't impressed. "You want to show me gloves? Why do you want to show me gloves?" she asked, confused.

"Watch," he said, pressing a small button near the palm area. With a quiet emshink/em, four long needles slid out of the fingers, their tubes filled with enough fear gas to topple an elephant.

Becky's eyebrows rose in surprise. Then, when she had a closer look, she could only laugh and shake her head. "No way! You actually tricked out your Freddy Krueger glove. I thought you just bought it for show."

He grinned, quite pleased that he had impressed her. "Not just that. I happened to order a second one just for you, Becky. Here, try it on," he said, practically giddy as he presented her with the left glove.

She took it carefully, trying not to stick herself as she fit it onto her hand. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly. "I'm surprised, Jonathan. This is probably one your better gifts. Good job!" she said, smiling as she tested the glove's dexterity.

"It's also useful for making sure that the Bat doesn't try to get too close," he added, enjoying the smile she was giving him, the freckles on her face seemingly accenting her grin.

"Oh, so it's not just because you want to imagine me as your own personal Freddy," Becky said teasingly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He laughed, his pointy nose nearly touching hers as he grinned cheekily back at her. "Oh, I think you could do much better than Freddy ever could."

"High compliment, coming from you," she flirted back, her lips about to touch his.

"Ah! There you are."

Becky and Jonathan both jumped as a video recording of the Riddler appeared on the console nearby, his bright green suit standing out among the white and greys of the laboratory.

"Edward!" Scarecrow snapped, instantly bolting from his seat on the couch to the old computer that he used to help him calculate results for his research.

"Oh, was I interrupting something between you two?" he said, a smirk trailing across his lips as he rested his head on his cane.

"Yes, now go away," he growled, trying to turn the monitor off, only to find that no matter what he did, the Riddler's grinning visage never faded. "How are you doing this?"

Edward laughed. "While you may be the Master of Fear, I am the Master of Electronics. So, try as you might, you won't be able to get me out of your systems. Not until I'm done, anyway."

"We'll see about that," he said, pulling the plug. He stood there in triumph, finally sighing in relief as the annoying man was finally silenced.

For a few seconds.

"You know; I don't appreciate being ignored. So, unless you want a nasty shock, I wouldn't recommend doing that again," he said from his position on Becky's flip-phone, his brown eyes glaring daggers at the two as they both snickered.

Jonathan rolled his eyes, taking the phone from Becky's hand. "Look, if you're that bored, go find Batman or something."

"Ah, and that is exactly why I called you," he said, his emerald-green cane twirling in between his fingers. "You see, my previous Hench girls, Query and Echo, are off the radar for the time being. Something about stealing a device from a top-secret government research facility that could shoot miniature nuclear bombs. So I don't have anyone to help me with my riddles."

"Aw, boo hoo. Little Riddler can't do anything on his own," Crane quipped sarcastically, grinning nastily at the annoying man. "Guess you're out of luck. Farewell."

"Wait! Wait!" Riddler pleaded, only relaxing when Jonathan lowered his hand from its throwing position. "Look, I'm not asking you to do it, Crane."

"Then why did you call?"

"Well, that little girlfriend of yours owes me a big favor. Heck, you probably wouldn't even be alive, if I hadn't lent her a helping hand," Riddler said, a smug grin plastered on his face.

Becky rolled her eyes, grabbing the phone from Jonathan's hand. "Fine. I'll do it," she growled. Anything to make him shut up.

Riddler clapped his hands excitedly. "Excellent! I'll have the riddles delivered to your lair in a few minutes. Ta Ta!"

She slammed the phone shut, releasing a frustrated sigh. Well, that was the rest of her night down the drain. "So, where do you think we have to place the Riddles?"

He shrugged, releasing a tiny huff. It was bad enough that the Riddler had no problem with barging in on his privacy, but he had to barge in just when he was enjoying his time with Becky. His eyes wandered back to her. "I'm curious. How exactly did the Riddler save your life?"

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from them. "When you were out cold, Friitawa took my cane and sent her genetically mismatched minions to finish me off. If he wasn't there, I would have been torn to pieces. Plus, I wouldn't have found her hideout without his help. I think I at least owe him for that. But does he have to be so dang smug about it?"

He snorted. "It's the Riddler. What do you expect?"

She was about to reply, when a sharp knock on the door interrupted her.

"I'll get it," Jonathan whispered, sneaking out quietly from the room. Batman was probably long gone, but one could never be so sure, especially with such a close call. Slinking in the shadows, he tiptoed his way towards the door. He opened up the eye slot, shooting the emerald-dressed goon in front of him a glare. "What?"

The goon gulped, sweat dripping off of his dark forehead. "Uh-um…s-special delivery, s-sir," he stammered, his voice almost coming out in a whisper.

Scarecrow sighed. Was Nigma really that short-handed that he sends a rookie with his precious riddle trophies? The boy looked no older than a teenager. "Just set them at the door."

With shaking fingers, he released the box, sending it crashing down onto the concrete, slowly backing away from the glaring yellow eyes.

"Thanks," Crane answered, sliding the green, question-marked box inside. "And for your own sake, stay in school, kid." With that, he closed the slot, leaving the bemused teen to stare in confusion and relief at the dented steel door.

"That was nice of you," Becky commented, leaning against the wall, her foot propped up on the wall. It was rare for him to show even a little bit of kindness towards anybody, besides her and his three friends.

Crane just huffed, looking a little put off by that comment. "Oh, please. The guy was practically in high school. I don't even know why Nigma even hired him."

"Still…" she said, a small smile on her face, causing him to return it fondly. He still had a hard time believing that she had meant it when she said she loved him. That day still felt like a dream, even if it almost ended in nightmares.

They began digging through the piles of neon-green, question mark trophies, trying to find the map hidden inside the box.

"Ah-hah," Becky exclaimed, pulling out a small, crumpled piece of paper from the chaos of the box. "I found it."

"Good. So where's the location?" Jonathan asked, still digging through the box, trying to find the paper with the riddles on it.

She squinted, trying to make out the small text on the map. "I can't make it out yet. But I think it says- "she stopped, making a face as she finally pieced together the word. "You've got to be kidding me!" she seethed, the paper crumpling in her hand.

"What is it?"

"Just look!" she snapped, shoving the crumpled paper into his hands.

After just one look, he could understand why she was so upset.

In small print at the top, it's letters marked in typed print, were two tiny words:

Arkham Asylum.


	9. Back Again

**Hey, guys. Sorry I'm a bit behind with this chapter. This chapter was originally going to be a LOT longer, but I decided that I needed to find a way to divide them better. Especially since long chapters are a pain to write. As well as keeping everything straight, I have to think of a lot of reactions from multiple different perspectives, and as someone with Asperger's, writing from different perspectives and keeping it all straight is incredibly challenging.**

 **Not to mention I have to edit this a little before sending it to you guys, as the stupid coding gets in the way *glares at coding venomously***

 **But anyway, enough of my ramblings. We have a story to continue!**

It was nearly midnight by the time the two were a few miles from the gates of the Arkham Asylum. The old, dead trees along the road outside the gates cast deep shadows across their forms, masking their presence from the guards on the other side, the full moon in the sky helping to light their way.

"Where is he?" Scarecrow hissed, his foot stamping impatiently against the barren ground, adjusting his glasses nervously against his face.

"Maybe he's trying to lose Batman from his trail. He has been rather active near Park Row since that strange blackout," Scream replied, adjusting the nurse's cap on her head. She was dressed in blue scrubs, a name-tag labeled ANDERSON over her left breast pocket.

"Perhaps," he muttered, cleaning his glasses with his shirt. "Do you remember the story?"

She nodded. "I'm Bethany Anderson. I am one of the new interns working at Arkham Asylum to help obtain my doctorate in Psychology. I was traveling to work from my home in Bludhaven when I was attacked by the Scarecrow. Luckily, Nightwing happened to drop in and rescue me before he could inject me with fear toxin and offered me a ride to work." She looked over at him, a hopeful smile on her face. "Was that good?"

"Hmm, not bad," he said, his eyes squinting down the road to try and see the approaching light of a car. "Could use a little more emotion to it, though."

"No duh, genius," she snapped snarkily, rolling her eyes at him. She rubbed at her eyes. "You could've just left it at 'not bad.'"

"Yes, but we have to really sell it. We can't allow the guards to find us out right as we get through the door," he huffed, taking his eyes off the road to look at her.

"Don't you think I know that, Crane? I know what's at stake, and you're not making it any easier by reminding me constantly about it," she growled, her hands bunched up into fists. "And if you're so sure of yourself, why don't you wear the nurse's outfit and I'll be the one in the Scarecrow costume?"

As the argument continued, no one noticed the sound of the black Nissan Bluebird pulling up beside the couple.

Hush sighed in exasperation. Did they really have to argue now, of all times? He was half-tempted to honk the horn to get their attention, but thought better of it because it would draw unwanted attention.

Sighing, he trudged towards the two. "Alright, alright, you two. That's enough!" he said, sliding between the two to get their attention. "Let's not forget what we came here for."

Both backed off, looking down slightly. "Sorry," they both muttered to each other, after a brief glare from Hush.

"Now, I brought along the trophies and the green paint, just as you asked. Becky, the makeup kit is in the back," he said, watching as she smiled and rushed to the backseat. "You didn't have to tag along, Professor. Becky and I could have gone in and be done with it."

Jonathan shook his head. "No, it'd be too risky for her to do this alone. Without me distracting the guards, she's likely to be caught before she could get the job done. Plus, some of those trophies and riddles need two people to place them. That, and I will need some time to disable the cameras and place the gas."

Hush nodded as Becky ran back with the makeup, her freckles covered by the foundation as she reached inside and began to prepare his for the bruises and black eye he would usually sport after a tough fight with Nightwing.

"Okay, you're going to have to hold still," she said, dabbing the makeup brush onto the palate as she mixed some of the colors together. Once she was satisfied, she dabbed it over his cheeks and forehead.

"I must admit, I didn't take you for the makeup kind of gal," Hush said, impressed with her skill.

She chuckled. "When you got beaten up as much as I did growing up, you know a good deal about how to make or cover up the bruises." She turned back to Crane. "Now, close your eyes."

He obeyed, slightly squeezing his eyes shut as she started to apply the purplish makeup around his right eye. She clasped onto his shoulders, trying to steady herself as she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach some of the corners of his eye.

"Don't squint," she lightly scolded, adjusting the make-up around his eyes, making sure she didn't get any in them. "I think we're alright." She looked over to the man in tights. "What do you think, Hush?"

Hush looked over Crane's face with a critical eye, checking to make sure that Becky's makeup looked realistic. "Looking good. I think that'll fool them enough to get you by security."

"Thank you," Becky said, smiling at her handiwork.

"If you're quite done staring at me, isn't it about time that we infiltrate the Asylum?" Scarecrow huffed, impatient.

"Right," both Becky and Hush replied quickly, both hurrying towards the car, Becky climbing into the backseat while Hush climbed into the driver's seat, Crane taking shotgun as they rode off towards the Asylum.

They just made it past the gates before they were required to go through a security check, Becky nervously clenching her fingers into her seat as they rode past. She really hoped that her cane wouldn't be checked as extensively. Heaven help her if the metal detectors inside the Intensive Treatment center caught the weapons hidden inside.

"Hush, what are we going to do about my weapon?" she whispered to him as the guards continued to search the car.

"Don't worry," he whispered back, shifting so that she could see his back. Hanging off his back was her cane, with its curved end hidden, its blow-dart function active. "Those guards will think that it's one of Nightwing's eskima sticks that he uses to fight crime. Even if they ask, I could always tell them that I lost one of mine during Scarecrow's attack. But shh, they're coming back."

Scarecrow and Becky both froze, Crane pretending to be slumped over against the corner of his seat as the guards came into view. "Alright, you're in the clear. Do you want us to bring in Crane?"

pHush shook his head. "No," he said, trying his best to mimic the voice of Nightwing. "I'll bring in Crane. Right now, I need your help with this lady in the car. She was attacked by Scarecrow and got a good dose of fear gas in the process."

If they noted anything different about his voice, they didn't seem to care at the moment, all of them rushing to help the woman in the backseat, her eyes staring blankly at the seat with a horrified expression, seemingly completely petrified with fear.

As they helped get her to her feet, she looked back over to the two, winking slightly before resuming her terrified expression as she turned back to face the concerned security officers.

Hush took it as his cue to start moving, making a show of shoving Crane roughly out of the car, dragging him towards the Intensive Treatment center. As they approached the lobby, Crane looked back towards his girl, watching anxiously as they hurried her towards the Medical Treatment center.

"Eyes on the road, Crane," Hush growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can't afford to be distracted right now."

"I know! I know!" Scarecrow hissed, elbowing Hush in the side under the guise of struggling. "Let's just get this over with."

The whole lobby started to clap as Hush/Nightwing dragged Scarecrow towards the awaiting guards.

"Thank you so much, Nightwing!" one nurse exclaimed, still clapping as Nightwing dragged the former professor towards the security scanner.

"We can take it from here, Nightwing," one of the guards, Aaron Cash, said, his hooked hand moving closer towards the two.

"Hush/Nightwing waved them off, putting on a charming smile. "Alright. Make sure he doesn't escape this time."

Cash chuckled. "We'll try, Nightwing. You have a good night now," he said, catching the end of Scarecrow's collar with his hook.

"Hey, watch where you're putting that hook, Cash!" Crane snapped, trying to wiggle out of his grip. "Any closer and you would have gotten my neck."

"Shut up, Crane. You're lucky that's the worst I would do to you," the man growled, jerking the hook slightly, causing Crane to gag.

"If you don't mind, Cash, I would like to accompany you for a little bit, just in case he decides to break loose," Hush/Nightwing requested, his usual smile replaced by a small frown. "We wouldn't want to have to catch him again tonight, would we?"

Cash thought this over, before shrugging. "Alright, might as well. We could use the extra security with him, anyway."

Hush/Nightwing nodded. "Alright, lead the way," he said, following behind Cash as the three made their way towards the security checkpoint.

Becky looked around, her eyes wide in faux-fright as she was escorted toward the medical facility, two guards on each side helping to keep her steady as she twitched. She kept up a low mumble throughout this, occasionally punctuated by a loud yelp.

 _Good_ , she thought, as the guards helped her through the doors. _They seem to be falling for it. I just hope that the antivenin doesn't have any effect like Jon said_.

As they guided her further and further down the medical hall, Becky began thinking of potential places to hide some of the riddle trophies.

 _Hopefully Hush remembered to bring them in. I don't want to go to all this trouble just to have to break out and back in again,_ she thought, her fists clenching.

As the two guards opened the door into the Sanitorium, her ears were assaulted by the loud, echoing sounds coming from the back corner, followed by the sounds of guttural growling and hissing.

This time, Becky did freeze up in real fear. She recognized those animalistic growls as belonging to Croc, and he did _not_ sound happy. She had no idea how they had managed to snag him this time, but she didn't want to stick around too long to find out.

One of the guard's put a hand on her shoulder as he continued to guide her closer to the howls. "It's alright, Beth. They have that animal under control. They're just fitting a new shock collar on him. Although I'm still wondering how he broke the other one."

She gulped, her face flushing. If Croc didn't decide to break out and eat her, he would blow her cover and the plan would be ruined. She needed to do something, and quickly.

"No! No! Please, stay back!" she screamed, her legs frantically backpedaling against the firm grip of the guards, fighting against imaginary monsters, trying to rapidly look around to find a possible escape.

"It's going to be okay, Miss Anderson," the other guard said, trying his best to calm her down. "We've got you. Nothing is going to hurt you."

But just as he said this, the sound of screeching metal reverberated across the room, followed by the flying body of a doctor before the hulking monstrosity stormed into the main hall, his glowing, yellow eyes looking around before focusing in on her.

"YOU!" he snarled, bits of spittle and blood flying from his mouth. "I will not let you go this time!" With a roar, he barreled towards her, eyes filled with bloodlust and rage.

Time seemed to slow in front of her as she felt something snap into place deep within her. With a snarl, she leaped towards the charging animal, her fingers splayed out like claws as she started to grapple with the beast, the guards and doctors looking on with horror, limbs frozen with fear.

But instead of being torn apart limb from limb, she seemed to be hold her own, her teeth bared as she shoved Croc back, sending him flying into the doors, making a Croc-sized dent in the metal.

Shocked, Becky looked down at her hands, then to the large dent in the door, confusion evident in her expression. "Did…did I do that?"

With a snarl, Croc scraped himself off of the dented door, his eyes glowing with fury. He didn't know how that little pest had tossed him with her bare hands when even Batman couldn't do it, but he wouldn't let her get him caught off guard again. Growling, he grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher and hurled it towards her.

With lighting reflexes, she dodged out of the way of the cylindrical container, grabbing a nearby guard and flinging him away from the fray, her green eyes narrowing at the reptile-like man, a low growl rumbling from her lips. **"Back off, Croc!**

"You think you intimidate me, little meal?" Croc snapped, letting out a guttural laugh. "You are nothing to me!" With a savage roar, he hurled himself towards her, his eyes locked on his prey. She wasn't going to get away from him this time.

Becky dodged away from him as he swerved to catch her, his superior speed letting him close in on her, his fanged jaws very close to snapping at her long hair.

 _How am I doing this?_ She thought, her mind swirling rapidly around in her head. She had no idea what was happening to her or how she was doing so well against a creature that even Batman had trouble fighting without any weapons to help her. She ground to a halt at a corner of one of the offices. _Uh-oh. Dead end._

She turned around, backing up slightly as Croc leered at her, licking his lips hungrily. "Say goodnight, Miss Albright," he hissed, his teeth and jaws snapping towards her face, waiting for the crunch of bones snapping and breaking and the tender taste of her flesh against his lips.

But instead of the sweet taste of meat, he instead seemed to taste ashes and dust. He opened his eyes, and found himself not at Arkham Asylum, but at the raging fire that had once been his circus, his home. He tried to move, but found himself trapped in a small cage, unable to escape as flames and debris rained all around him.

Becky opened her eyes when she found that the rancid smell of Croc's breath was no longer wafting over her like a large sewage truck. But when she looked down, she was shocked to see him tucked into the corner, his breathing heavy and his body curled into a fetal position on the floor.

"What's happened to me?" she murmured to herself, trying to comprehend how she had scared Croc when she had absolutely no fear gas on her. _Unless…_

But before she could continue that thought, she was startled by a loud gasp coming from the doorway as one of the doctors began to approach the scene.

"How…How on earth did you do that?" he asked, staring in astonishment at her, and then at the cowering Croc.

"I…I don't know," she said softly, confusion starting to settle in as her adrenaline began to fade. "I don't know."

Crane looked around as he was hurried along. They had just passed the elevator and the scanning booth and were now heading towards the back of the center and towards the Penitentiary. He had already mapped out his escape route. All he needed now was the opportunity.

As they made their way towards another elevator, stopping briefly in some of the lower holding cells, Crane saw his chance. Giving a barely perceptible nod towards Hush, he readied himself as Cash looked away for a moment. Snapping the chains on his handcuffs, he elbowed Cash in the eye before he could react, tearing away part of his jacket in the process.

 _Darn, I really liked that one,_ too, he thought, before throwing a fear gas bomb towards Hush and the other guards, ducking into one of the air vents as the men scrambled to run away. _Oh well. I'll patch it up once I get home. Right now, I need to focus on getting away before they realize that "Nightwing" didn't stick around to help them._

He dug into his pocket, pulling out the small, neon-green question mark trophy as he placed it neatly at the end of the duct. _There, that should do it for this little area, at least._

He snuck out of there and headed towards the exit, reaching into his pocket as he grasped one of the capsule-sized fear bombs inside, throwing it ahead of him as he held his breath, shoving the guards in front of him out of the way as the toxin took effect.

As he raced down the hallway, placing some of the trophies here and there, he had to wonder how his Becky was doing.

 _Hopefully, she's doing better than I am_ , he thought, scrambling into an air duct as a pair of scientists passed him. He kicked one of the trophies behind him, careful to avoid being seen as he dropped down to the ground.

He counted the trophies he had left. He only had eight more to go.

With a sigh, he started towards the offices.


	10. Perception

**Hello again, everybody. I just wanted to take the time to thank you all for stopping whatever you were doing for the day and taking time to read this. And while I would continue this story regardless of views, just knowing that you continue reading this fic is enough to keep me going and motivate me to make this story the best that I can make it. Things have been particularly crazy these past few months, including applying for my first job, a car crash that totaled my poor car (RIP Claire), a big Con in Dallas that I was invited to with my best friends, and a class that I have started today to get some extra credit hours in for my college degree.**

 **But things will be getting better. And no matter what, I will continue to update this story until it is finished, even if it takes a while to think out the details.**

 **Now, enough about my life. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Becky let out a sigh of relief as she left the tiny room, trying to calm herself after she had waded through the rushing flow of doctors, security guards, and curious interns as she made her way into the elevator. Pressing the button to go down, she slowly slid to the floor, still trying to recover from her fight against Croc as she tried to piece together just how she had survived her encounter.

"I wonder…" she murmured to herself, looking down at the floor, her legs sprawled out underneath her. "I wonder if this has to do with the incident a few nights ago?"

She tried to recall the events of that night, but all she could find was a jumbled mess of images and sensations that she couldn't decipher. With a wince, she rubbed her temples, trying to ignore the screeching of the elevator as it made its way towards the autopsy room.

 _Come to think of it,_ she thought, sliding herself up, arms instinctively outstretched to hold her balance, despite her functional leg rendering it unnecessary. _A lot of things have changed since that night. Even with my new leg, it still doesn't explain my increased senses recently, or those weird dreams I've been having._

She tried to think back, straining her mind to remember the events. But the more she struggled, the fainter the memories seemed.

With a growl, she slammed her hand against the wall, frustrated.

Frustration.

That was all she had been feeling as of late. Everything just seemed so frustrating now. She tried not to show it, tried to keep it hidden, tried to keep it in check. But the more she held it in, the more it just seemed to burst out of her.

It was so hard for her to concentrate anymore. Everything felt so sharp now. So powerful. It just seemed to overwhelm her already exhausted mind and fill it with so many new smells and sights and tastes and sounds that her mind had trouble processing everything.

Becky winced as another shrill screech resounded through the elevator, followed by the soft ding of the elevator coming to rest on the bottom floor.

But when the doors lifted, Becky couldn't hold back a gasp of fright.

For there, standing straight in front of her, was the same boogeyman from her dreams.

"You're not real!" Becky shouted at the being, trying to stop her body from shaking in the presence of this creature. She had faced far scarier things during her nightmarish hauntings from her exposure to fear toxin and didn't shake in fear. Yet one appearance by this thing was enough to send her mind into panic. "I refuse to believe you are real! You're-You're just a figment of my imagination!"

The boogeyman's grin seemed to get wider, as if saying, 'Oh, am I?' before it started to drift away, its empty arm sleeves wrapping around Becky's arm as it pulled her out of the elevator and towards the autopsy room.

Despite it having no strength or weight to move on its own, Becky still felt the sharp, firm pull as it dragged her closer to the glass.

She looked inside, seeing nothing of interest aside from the few coroners performing a biopsy on one of the deceased guards from Joker's last escapade. "What's the point of you dragging me here? I don't see anything out of the ordinary," she said, glaring at the doppelganger in her costume.

Its smile seemed to crease suddenly into a frown, before it slammed her head against the glass, 'Look closer', it seemed to whisper into her mind, before a hazy fog began to engulf the room inside.

"What's going on?" she whispered, turning to glare at the being. "Are you the one behind this?"

It put a finger to its lips, miming a shushing sound, and turned back to watch, its eternal sneer once again plastered on its face.

She tried to squint through the hazy fog as the shadows from inside the room seemed to shift and shimmer with the light, causing her eyes to start playing tricks on her with the abstract shapes.

Suddenly, a thin, bony hand came up, startling her out of her search and sending her crashing to the floor. She looked up at the peeled flesh of the hand scraped fresh blood against the glass, what was left of his skin finding traction against the material as he dragged himself up, revealing its bloody and rotting flesh, the mandible only remaining attached to the head by a sliver of flesh.

Becky tried to scramble back, shaking her head back and forth in denial. "No! You're not real! You're just a hallucination caused by my stress. I-I'll wake up from this any second now!"

She turned away, trying to run back to the elevator, only to find the body waiting right in front of her, its hand reaching out and tangling itself in her hair, its jaw jerking along despite the weak piece of tissue securing it in place.

With a frightened scream, she struck the corpse, her eyes glowing green with panic as she felt the weight of the corpse dragging her down with it. With a snarl borne out of desperation, she yanked against his hold, struggling against the sudden strength it seemed to bear, before grabbing hold of the cold flesh and bone and twisting it off of her, finally cutting its ties with a loud snap as the bones tore away from its torso, leaving just a mangled mush of flesh.

The corpse screamed, shattering the glass around her and making her ears ring, the useless arm dropping to the floor, forgotten. With a snarl, it charged at her.

But this time, she was ready. As the body made its way towards her, she jumped into the air, performing a roundhouse kick that sent its head flying down to the other end of the hall.

Becky panted, hand clutching at her chest as she looked down in horror at the bloody mess on the floor. _What was that thing? And how did a corpse suddenly come to life like that?_ she wondered, backing away from the corpse as the smell of rot finally hit her nostrils, causing her to choke down the bile threatening to rise up from her throat. _I have to get out of here!_

With a choked sob, she ran from the scene, tears threatening to stream from her eyes. She kept running until she found the costumed doppelganger waiting for her at the end of the room.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered softly, the tears finally starting to trail down her cheeks. She glared at it, her eyes hard with hatred at the floating nuisance. "Are you the one responsible for all this?"

It shook its head, before pointing towards the end of the hallway.

Becky sniffled, wiping her eyes with her arm. "What are you trying to tell me? Is the way out of this nightmare through there?"

It nodded, continuing to point.

"This isn't a trick, is it?"

The being shrugged, its grin mischievous.

"Fine," she huffed at it. "I don't need your help anyway."

With a snarl, she stormed off, leaving her grinning stalker behind as it seemed to giggle at her retreating back.

Crane look down at his prey below, his perch on a gargoyle giving him an excellent view of the business going on down below him. His spindly frame clung to the shadows like a spider, preventing any of his features from being cast on the ground and alerting the nervous security guards. Glancing towards his right, he leaped to another gargoyle, his feet landing with barely a sound as his hands caught the edge and pulled himself up.

 _So far, so good,_ he thought, his eyes looking around for the guards. So far, there were only five of them in the area, their forces spread out and searching for him as they cautiously eyed the grates in the floor and the vents in the walls, their flashlights searching for any signs of canisters or tripped aerosol cans that could send fear gas blowing into their faces.

 **"** ** _Isn't it funny how they scurry around like little rats_**?"

The shock of the voice right next to his ear was enough for Crane to almost lose his balance. With a soft snarl at the hooded figure next to him, he slid around to face him. "I thought I told you to go away."

The Scarecrow chuckled, jumping down off of the gargoyle and onto the metal platform below.

"What are you doing, you idiot?" he hissed, careful to keep from slipping from the statue.

" ** _What does it look like, Johnny-boy? I'm giving you a little helping hand,"_** the doppelganger said, a savage grin on his masked face. "

"Oh, yeah. And how are you going to do that?" he whispered back.

A glint of mischief appeared in the figure's eye. " ** _Just you watch."_**

With a grin, the figure tip-toed towards the desks.

Mark took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he watched the security cameras on the laptop on his desk, nervous sweat starting to run down his forehead. From what he had seen on the cameras, the Scarecrow was somewhere in this room, but so far, no one had managed to spot him yet, which left a nervous tension floating in the room like the humidity on a hot summer's day.

He saw something move out of the corner of his eye. With a tense inhale, he switched the cameras rapidly, trying to find out just what he had glimpsed.

He let out a small, almost whispery gasp as he saw something that had haunted his nightmares since he was a child.

It was a life-size mannequin, its features and extremities convulsing madly, its arms and legs bending in ways completely unnatural to the human body.

With a yelp, he switched the camera, his hand over his heart.

"It's okay, Mark. Just breathe. Just breathe," he told himself, a hand clutching at his heart as he tried to calm down. "At least it wasn't like that week at the restaurant with those creepy animatronics. You're fine."

He looked at the monitors again. The crazy mannequin was nowhere to be found. He checked each camera, starting to chuckle nervously to himself.

"Heh, maybe it was just my imagination. I mean, this is Arkham. It's not like it was like that restauran- "He froze as he looked up from his desk, his hands jerking to his side as he let out a startled gasp.

The mannequin was staring straight at him. Its eyes seemed to be glowing a sickly, luminescent yellow.

He laughed nervously, darting for the nearest thing he could pick up, which just so happened to be a box of Cheez-Its. "Um…Cheez-It?" he asked, before he screamed in terror as the mannequin lunged at him, its hands aimed for his throat.

Crane stifled a snicker as the watchman panicked, watching with amusement as the Cheez-It box flew from the guard's hands and into the air, scattering the crackers everywhere. He didn't know what the watchman was seeing, but by the way he was screaming about animatronics and possessed dolls, it was certainly an uncommon fear _. Probably automatonaphobia,_ he thought absently.

But his analysis would have to wait. Right now, with the guards distracted by the distressed man and the security cameras unwatched, this was his chance to find a different spot and release the toxin. Edging off the statue, Crane skittered into an open shaft, easing himself down the hole and onto the bottom floor.

With a quick tug, he pulled a few strands of straw loose that he had stored in his costume's pocket, careful to not break any of the pieces yet. Taking a deep breath, he snapped the straw in half, releasing the scent of his fear toxin –infused straw on the room, scampering up the shoot and into another vent before repeating the process.

It was not long before he could hear the sounds of coughing and screaming as the toxin made its way through the ducts and out into the room. Springing from his hidey-hole, he quickly raced across the room, dodging past the guards as they screeched and clawed at each other in a frenzy, driven temporarily mad by their fear.

With a grin, he disabled the cameras, finally letting a relieved sigh as he sat down, counting how many trophies he had left to place in his pocket. Thankfully, he only had a couple more to place before he could get out of this place and meet up with Becky.

He had just placed the first one down when he heard a high-pitched scream assault his ears, rising above the sound of the other guards' screams to send him stumbling back towards the desk.

 _Becky!_ He thought with alarm, his senses heightening as his eyes glowed amber with fear for his love. Without a second thought, he threw the last Riddler trophy he had onto the desk and dashed towards the exit, praying silently to whatever higher power was up there that she was still alive.

Deep down below the earth, far away from the Asylum, Friitawa lifted her head abruptly from her studies, her red eyes gleaming as her ears picked up the sound of screaming coming from far away.

"Hmm, now what could that be, I wonder?" she muttered to herself, a small smile starting to grow across her face. It wasn't just the fact that she heard a scream, although that was a contributing factor. But the scream's tone, its pitch, it sounded very familiar to her. But she couldn't recall from where.

But despite that she couldn't place its owner, the sound of it sent anticipation shuddering through her body.

Becky growled as she slammed open the door to the Morgue, finding herself back into the room after the fifth time of trying to exit.

"What is with this place?" she said to herself, once again back in the empty room, her fingers running themselves through her hair in a nervous habit. "I try to get out, but for some reason, no matter what I do, I keep ending up back here."

She frowned down at her shoes. Nothing was making sense anymore, and the searing pain in her head was not helping matters at all.

A lone camera focused in on her, but she was too distracted to notice.

But she did notice a small, almost whispery sound.

She walked towards the center, trying to find where the sound in the room was coming from.

As she neared the stage in the middle of the room, the sound began getting clearer.

It kept repeating two words, over and over again.

"…and cutting and cutting and cutting and cutting..."

She looked around, trying to find its origin.

"I know you're in here. Come on out," she said, her mouth creasing into a determined grimace, her hands curled into fists.

The voice kept getting louder and louder with each step closer to the center.

When she got to the center, the voice started screaming.

"….AND CUTTING AND CUTTING AND CUTTING AND CUTTING…!"

By chance, Becky happened to look up,

She got only a brief glimpse of him before he launched himself towards her, sending her scrambling back to safety.

The man was bald, but all across his body were the scarred cuttings of tally marks on his skin, so numerous that Becky couldn't count each one. A collar, with the padlock still on, wrapped around his neck and worn shackles wrapped around his wrists, both whose hands held knives. She looked down at his pants. They were the same orange that the Asylum used for those in Maximum security.

She nearly flinched back as his head suddenly snapped towards her, a savage and sinister smile creeping across his lips.

"Hello, plucky Becky," he hissed, his eyes gleaming with lust as he began to circle her.

"Who are you?" she growled, glaring at the man as she began to circle him as well.

He grinned, holding one of his blades closer to his face. "The name is Zsasz," he said, his tongue licking the cool metal of his blade. He saw her look of fear and disgust as he did this, and started to chuckle. "Do not look so frightened, little one. I have not come here to kill you."

Becky's eyes narrowed, her body sliding into a defensive stance. She did not trust this Zsasz person at all. Especially his knives. "Then why are you here, Zsasz?"

"Is it not obvious?"

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his as they continued to circle.

He started to giggle. "You are not the zombie I was planning to liberate today. But since you are here, I feel obligated to indulge you."

With a maddened laugh, he lunged out at her, his knives glistening in the light as they came closer to her.


	11. Detour

**Welcome back, everybody. I know it's been a while since I've posted anything. For the past few months, I have been in an aimless pursuit for the plot and something to connect all the scenes I've been planning in my head, so I never really knew which route to take the story in.**

 **Now, however, I think I finally have a central theme that will connect all three stories together. And with this theme, I now know where I want to aim the plot. But what that theme represents is something that will be kept secret for the time being. For now, just know that I have finally found my muse again, and this time it won't be going anywhere for quite awhile.**

 **But for now, pay no attention to the woman behind the curtains.**

Hush hummed contently under his breath, twirling Becky's cane in his hand as he walked away calmly from the medical facility. The medical wing trophies he had were set, the tissue samples he needed were collected, and he got to besmirch Nightwing's good name in the process. All in all, it was a good night.

He was just about to head to his car when he heard a massive roaring in the distance. He looked up, checking the sky. Yet despite the gloomy clouds over the city, there was no sign of rain or lightning anywhere. He was just about to check his watch when he saw a panting Crane stumbling towards him, sweat pouring down his face like a waterfall.

"Professor? What are you doing here?"

"Can't talk," he panted, trying to regain his breath, his hands resting against his knees. While he was a good ambusher and sprinter, a long-distance runner, he was not. "No time—Becky's in trouble—distract them."

"But I thought you were the distraction?" he asked, a little bit flustered at the sudden change of plans.

"Well, now it's your turn. So tag," he said quickly, nudging Hush lightly as he took the weapon from his hands, dashing off towards the medical building before Hush could even blink.

He just stood there, bewildered by the sudden rush the Professor seemed to be in. How did he know if Becky was in trouble? He had been all the way at the other side of the building, and neither had any means of communication between them. So what had tipped off Crane to suddenly rush to her aid?

He didn't have long to ponder this, however, as soon the guards had caught up to him. Their leader, Cash, approached him.

"Nightwing, did you see Scarecrow come past here recently?" he asked, his hooked hand underneath the gun's barrel holding it steady as he aimed it downwards towards his feet at the sight of Nightwing.

Hush nodded, "Yeah, he went towards the Penitentiary. Just follow me," he said, racing towards the other building, hoping he could keep the charade long enough to lead them away from his comrades and still make it out of the Asylum before he was captured.

Becky dodged out of the way of the knives, ducking low as one of them swung out to the side, its blade mere inches from her skin as he chased after her, a frustrated frown marring his twisted face. "Hold still!" he snarled, his feet swiping under hers as he tried to trip her.

"If you think for one second I would listen to you, you're crazier than the Joker," Becky retorted, jumping over his attempted swipe at her feet and leaping over his crouching form. With a powerful kick, she landed a blow to his side, only to twist as he counterattacked with his blades.

His laugh sent ice through Becky's veins as she just barely avoided a slash a hair's length away from her wrist. "Do you want to know something, plucky Becky?" he asked, his knife finally landing a blow as she let out a scream of pain, kneeling over as her hands clutched the torn and bloody material of her dress top as he closed in for the kill. "I am not some insane inmate like the rest of them, committing murders because they have little voices in their heads. All those killings. All those murders I committed. All my…tally marks," he said reverently, tracing one of the long cuts on his forehead as his other hand forced her down, its knife against her throat. "…Are because I chose to."

"Is that so, Zsasz?"

The maniac looked up as the long shadow of the Scarecrow darkened the light around the floor of the morgue, his mouth pointed downward in a murderous scowl, his glowing amber eyes burning with fury as he moved slowly and methodically towards the man, his rage barely contained beneath his calm façade. "Because now I know what you truly fear, and it's not just the Batman. Oh no, it's never just him," he said, his voice low and cold as Antarctic wind.

Becky looked over at her savior, her lips crinkling into a small smile before trying to wiggle away from Zsasz's grip while he was distracted. Unfortunately, while the man was not the sharpest pencil in the pocket, he was smart enough to keep a strong hold on her top, the knife starting to dig into the skin around her neck. "Do you mind, Scarecrow? Can't you see that I am one second away from my next glorious creation?" he said irritably, feeling his skin start to itch from the anticipation of his next cut.

"Actually, I do," Crane replied, his eyes briefly meeting hers before focusing back on the killer. "You have something that belongs to me."

Zsasz looked confused for a moment, before starting to laugh. "What? Her? Are you still continuing on with that stupid rivalry of yours?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. And you know as well as I do that I never leave my experiments half-finished," he said, eyes narrowed at the man. "Now, if you would kindly step away from the girl, I'll maybe let you go without having you relive all of your greatest fears one by one."

He let out a short bark of laughter. "In your dreams, Crane. I'm the one who found her first, and so I will be the one to liberate her from this meaningless—Ah!" he shouted, cursing as Becky bit down on the killer's hand, using the small opening she made to pull her legs up to her chest and kick out, causing one of the knives he held in his hands to drop to the floor. In one fluid motion, she grabbed the knife and swung it towards him as he blocked her blow with his other knife, her glowing green eyes filled with determination and anger as he pushed back against her force.

"Shut up!" Becky snarled, gritting her teeth as the metal on metal sound of the two blades clanged against each other in the spacious room, separating only for a moment to clang together again as Becky's parried with her knife, holding it in her hand like a miniature sword. "If I have to hear one more word about 'liberation' or 'cutting' from you again, there won't be anything left for you to cut."

Zsasz seemed a bit taken aback by this answer. He had not expected his victim to fight back with such ferocity or strength, nor did he expect for her to so quickly start to turn the tables on him. He glanced towards the doctor, who was leaning against the railing, a small, sinister smile stretching across his face. "What are you just standing around for, Crane? I doubt you want to have to fight her, too."

This time, Scarecrow started to laugh, causing Zsasz to stare in confusion, allowing Becky to tackle him and pin him to the floor, her knife now to his throat in an ironic reversal. "Now, who said anything about fighting?" Scarecrow said softly, coming to stand right behind his partner.

"W-What?" Zsasz squeaked in shock, his eyes darting between the two of them before he finally connected the dots. "You…You two work together?!"

"Well, look at that, Scarecrow. I think he's finally starting to get it," she said, an impish grin spreading across her face as she looked up at Crane, her shoulder just barely resting against the side of his pants.

Crane returned her grin. "So it seems," he said, smirking as he looked back over at the serial killer. "You see, Zsasz, you like to be in complete control of your situation, which means you probably grew up in a sheltered life in your youth, am I right? Able to control things down to the last detail or better yet, have someone else do it for you." He didn't wait for Zsasz to respond before launching into his diagnosis of the man's fear, his amber eyes continuing to stare him down with amusement. "But at some point, you lost control of it all, didn't you? You lost everything. Your home. Your family. Your life savings, say, on a gambling bet against a cheating Penguin?"

Zsasz's eyes widened, his mouth agape as he watched Scarecrow relate all this to him, suddenly starting to feel even more uncomfortable than he was already. _How does he know all this? No one could have possibly known all those details!_ "Y-You're lying!" Zsasz bluffed, but his words rang hollow even in his own ears.

Scarecrow started to laugh, his chilling, booming laughter seemingly lowering the temperature of the room. "Am I? Well then, stop me when what I'm saying isn't true." He paused for a second, clearing his throat before he continued. "After losing all of your life savings on a misplaced bet, you head out to the bridge connecting Gotham to Metropolis, hoping to end your miserable existence, when out of nowhere, a homeless person decided to mug you for what little pennies you have left in your empty purse. And that's when you saw it, isn't it?" he said, his face inching closer to the man, his grin widening as he saw the terror in the man's eyes.

"You saw in the man's eyes what you wanted to see. That the world which had chewed you up and spat you out was just as worthless as what you thought yourself to be. So, you decided to repay the man his 'kind' favor with one of your own. And after you spilled out that poor man's blood all over the bridge, you felt your calling. And that's what ultimately lead us here, isn't it? You, your victim, and now her guardian. Whether it be of chiropteran origin or of corvid doesn't matter now, does it?" He said, his grin widening into a sneer as his words seemed to strike a chord within Zsasz, as his face seemed to become paler with each word the man spoke.

"Now, I don't normally do this, but you're cowering expression has greatly amused me, so I'm going to let you live. For now," Crane hissed, giving a subtle nod of his head to Becky as she lifted the knife from his neck and handed it to him.

Zsasz looked nervously between the duo, rubbing at the nick on his neck from the sharp blade. "So, what? You're letting me go, just like that?"

"No," Crane said nonchalantly, idly running his hand along the blunt edge of the blade. "It's not quite that simple, Zsasz. You see, I wouldn't think twice about slitting your throat the way you tried to slit hers. But I'm not one to pass up the opportunity of a resource when I see it. So I'm only going to let you go on one condition."

Zsasz's eyes narrowed. "And what might that be?" he snarled, his eyes murderous staring at Becky, who glared right back at him. The next time he caught her, he wouldn't let her escape from his mark again.

Scarecrow only smiled wickedly, before he launched into his plan.

Hush was really beginning to regret helping the professor with this favor. He sighed to himself as the guards continued to search fruitlessly among the cells of the prison, trying to ignore the screaming, slobbering, raving mental patients locked inside the cells.

There was a good reason that the Rogues and other saner (albeit still quite crazy) prisoners were given separate levels from these lunatics. Not only did the howls of the mental patients drive the Rogues to attempt more escapes, but one incident had caused them to escape and start attacking the guards, allowing some of the nastier residents of the maximum security cells to escape.

He gritted his teeth, trying to block out the sound echoing across the walls as one of the slobbering patients screamed directly into his ear, his head banging against the glass window in a ravenous attempt to reach for his head. It was taking all his willpower not to kill everybody in the room and leave this island of madness. _But,_ he thought, continuing to walk towards the stairs, scanning the cells in an illusion to look like he was searching as well, _Crane did deliver on his promise of the samples I needed being here, along with a good job opportunity here as a mortician. Not to mention watching those idiot guards stumble around for clues like headless chickens is pretty funny._

He paused for a bit, looking around cautiously, before taking one of the trophies out of his pocket and tossing it into the cell, not caring one bit as it flopped horizontally onto the floor. He didn't bother placing it neatly. If the Riddler wanted the trophies placed correctly, then he could go and do it himself. As he walked towards the center, he could see a large dome-like structure being carried in by some construction workers.

"What's this for?" he asked, looking at the bulky thing with bewildering amusement as the workers set it down squarely in the middle of the room with a loud grunt.

Cash glanced over his way. "Oh, that? That's a new cell we've designed to house Poison Ivy. We've been having a lot of trouble keeping her in her cell recently, especially with some of the guards' coming and going from their homes and accidentally dragging in some of the pollen from their homes for her to use."

"I see. But why a dome?" Hush/Nightwing questioned, trying not to chuckle at the great Poison Ivy reduced to sitting in what by all accounts looked a bit like an upside-down bowl like a captured rodent.

"Well, it was the only air-tight space in the asylum that we could set up on such a short notice. We still have Clayface's cell, but moving him while still keeping him in a solid form is more of a trouble than we can afford right now." He paused for a bit, using the blunt end of his hook to scratch absentmindedly at the growing stubble on his chin. "By the way, you doing okay, Nightwing? Your voice sounds kind of scratchy."

Hush froze for a moment beneath his disguise, before letting out a little cough. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting over a cold. You know how it's been this winter."

"Yeah. I can understand," he said, turning to gather the other guards as they made their way to the next room. "For some reason, this winter has been warmer than the past couple of years."

Hush let out a sigh of relief as the door opened, thankful for the unusual Gotham weather for giving him a reasonable excuse for his rough voice. If he wasn't careful, this whole heist they were planting could end up in a trap for them instead.


	12. Exposure

**Happy late Thanksgiving guys. I tried to upload this Thanksgiving day, but the servers bugged out and kept resetting so I couldn't upload this chapter in time. Heck, it was slated for an earlier date on Halloween Night, but school and trick-or-treaters got in the way as well. I will try to have another chapter out by Christmas, but I can't guarantee anything right now with the way school is going. Hopefully, once the holidays come around and finals are passed, I can get back to working on this story.**

Scarecrow crawled through the vents, nervously looking over his shoulder every so often to make sure that Zsasz hadn't stuck a knife in between his shoulders. He could still hear the demented man chanting his mantra behind him, his tone monotonous, but his voice soft as they crept silently towards the outside.

"Would you stop that?" he hissed, annoyed by the constant chanting. He would have taken Tetch over Zsasz any day. At least with Tetch there was no paranoia over having the Hatter planting a sharp object in his back.

Zsasz didn't appear to have even heard him. All that existed to him were the itching in his skin and the knives in his hand, his bare skin screaming and throbbing for want of a cut, but it remained unanswered. He continued to chant, his eyes clouded with delusion.

Crane rolled his eye, continuing his crawl. He was just about to head for where he knew the ventilation shaft ended outside the building through the X-Ray room when he heard a familiar voice.

"How goes the progress on the TITAN project, Dr. Young?" said the deep, distinctive voice of Warden Sharp, adjusting his tie as he leaned on his cane, slightly limping along on his right leg. From Crane's vantage point, he could only see the top of the man's bald head, but he could imagine seeing the perpetual frown line the man's face.

"Not good, Mr. Sharp. The sample we've taken from the Scarecrow seems to have helped stabilize the Venom, but the test subjects we have been experimenting on have only lasted a few hours before their heart explodes from the strain," she replied, looking over her notes, flipping a few of them as she looked over the results recorded. "Unfortunately, without something to prevent spasms in the coronary arteries, we'll be unable to reach our goal."

Crane froze, his eyes darting to his right arm. Rolling up his sleeve, he could see the faint pinprick from where they drew his blood. _So that's why they've been so interested in studying me. They must want to recreate the effects of my transformation on some of the more mentally insane patients here. But why? What would they have to gain?_

"Ohhh, tender, soft flesh," Zsasz cooed, licking his lips as he eyed the pretty doctor from his slice of the vent grate, his hands shaking in anticipation for the next cut. "So juicy, so sweet. I must have—ack!" he was cut off by Crane grasping him by his padlocked collar.

"Not. Another. Word. Out of you," he hissed, pulling the leather tight around the maniac's neck, his shimmering amber eyes narrowing pointedly. "Understand?"

Zsasz nodded quickly, letting out a soft gasp as Scarecrow released the leather, causing it to painfully snap across his neck. He rubbed at the sore flesh, his lips curled into a snarl as he followed Crane as the man made his way away from the pretty lady psychologist and towards the outside grating. Soon, once this job was over, he was going to make that smug strawman pay for keeping him from his prey.

Becky let out a sigh of relief as she entered the Botanical Garden, thankful that her reasonable excuse had gotten her past the guards. As she walked past the entrance and into the glasshouse portion of the gardens, she couldn't help but wonder if it was wise splitting up like this, especially with Zsasz added to the mix.

 _Really, I have to question why he's even teaming up with that maniac to begin with,_ she thought, her cane held in a death grip inside her purse. If there was a reason for Batman to make an exception for his no-kill rule, then it would definitely be for him. She shook her head. She needed to stay focused. They only had a three hours left until sunrise, and their chances of escaping were shrinking with every minute they continued to stay. Splitting up would help cover more ground and divide the guards in their chase, as well as giving them more time to place the trophies before time was up.

Walking into the glasshouse, she only stopped to plant one of her trophies under the floor tiles before heading forwards once more. But just as she walked near the tall, ornate fountain in the center of the room, she felt like something in the air smell…wrong. She didn't know how she could differentiate this smell from the overpowering scent of blooming flowers, but she could just barely pick up on it. It didn't smell like the other flowery scents, but something sickly-sweet, like the smell of disinfectant and cooking oil.

Becky knew something was definitely up. Disinfectants, from what she recalled from Ivy's lecture, were generally pesticides if they were used around plants. And she was sure that the Arkham staff knew better than to spray pesticides everywhere, especially with Ivy still locked up and capable of breaking out of her cell at any time she wanted. Not to mention someone wouldn't have cooking oil in a greenhouse unless they were planning to start a fire.

With that in mind, she started up the ladder, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on the scent. Seeing a door marked SECTION CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE she hesitantly opened the door, looking around to make sure no staff were currently roaming the hallway before continuing onward. She paused as she walked towards another room, sniffing the air. The smell was definitely getting stronger.

Racing forward, she screeched to a halt as she reached a dead end at the Generator room, her determined expression slowly slipping into one of confusion. That smell was at its strongest here, yet there was no evidence of any of the chemicals that would give off such a smell.

She frowned. There had to be a reason the trail stopped here. Was she just imagining things? Was the smell just one of the various hallucinations that she had been experiencing lately? She had no idea about anything anymore in this crazy place.

She was just about to give up and head out when she was snapped out of her revelry by a lone maintenance worker, wheeling his cart out of a small door to her right. He appeared Hispanic in descent, with a neatly groomed painter's mustache between his nose and mouth and tired, brown eyes that drooped due to the early hours. He had a patch on his uniform which read ANTONIO.

He raised a bushy eyebrow as he pushed his cart to a halt. "Ma'am, are you lost?" he asked in his thick, Spanish accent, exhaustion evident in his voice.

Becky perked up as she saw he was addressing her. "Um, maybe a little. I thought I smelled something similar to bleach and oil while I was walking towards the gardens, and I decided to investigate. You don't happen to have anything like that on your cart, do you?"

The man looked confused, shaking his head. "No. And I don't recall smelling anything of that sort when I entered."

This time, it was her turn to look confused. "What do you mean? I know the flowers are kind of overpowering, but you must've smelled that weird smell while you were in the garden, at least?"

The blank look she was given was not the answer she was looking for.

"Look, forget about the smell, did you see anything suspicious around here lately? Anything that shouldn't belong in the gardens? Please, er—" she paused to glance at the patch— "Antonio, I know you may think I'm crazy, but something is very wrong here, and I want to find out why," she pleaded, hoping that the man would believe her. She knew that she sounded crazy, and her torn uniform and disheveled appearance didn't help her case, but she was desperate for answers. She needed to know why she was reacting this way, why she was able to heal so quickly, why she was able to outrun and overpower Croc with just her bare hands, and why she was having these hallucinations and odd feelings.

The man sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Look, I may have seen something while I was in the back."

Becky instantly perked up, hazel eyes brightening. "What was it?" she asked quickly, hope starting to spark in her heart.

He shrugged. "When I was scrubbing the floor near the back, I saw a bit of glowing green residue on the ground. Maybe that's what you're looking for."

"Do you know what it is?"

Antonio shrugged, rubbing his hands against a wet towel. "How should I know? I'm just the janitor here. If you really want to know, just ask the Warden."

Becky smiled. "Well, thank you anyway," she said, rushing towards the door leading out of the room.

The man just sighed, shaking his head as he tiredly pushed the cart forward.

Crane scowled as he looked up towards the mansion, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had suspected that the front entrance would be guarded, but he had not expected that half of Arkham's security would be parked against the door. On the balcony above the entrance, two snipers, peeking through their guns' scopes, surveyed the area around the entryway, their fingers itching against the trigger of their rifles as the glowing dots of their scopes flickering as they drifted along the dead grass and scraggy bushes. The rest of the guards were positioned in front of the door, electrified batons held out carefully in front of them, as they searched the shadows for any movement.

"Are we going to liberate them, huh, Crane? Please let me liberate them from their meaningless existence," he pleaded, practically drooling at the thought of such fresh, young blood flowing from their sliced necks, his eyes glimmering in anticipation as he shivered excitedly.

"Shush!" Scarecrow hissed, freezing as the scopes briefly pointed in their direction for a few moments, before slowly drifting back into place. After a few more movements of stillness, Crane lifted his finger from his lips as he whispered, "Yes, you will soon enough. But first, I need you to distract the guards in front of the door." He took a small ball out of his pocket, holding it between his fingers carefully. "Now, listen carefully, I need you to- "he was interrupted as Zsasz flicked the ball out of his fingers, sending it flying right into the guards' faces as Crane just stared with shocked, wide eyes.

"Look out!" the guard's cried, shooting the ball just as it exploded in their face, sending them scattering as Zsasz screamed with delight, leaping into the fray, his smile a mile wide as his knives gleamed in the moonlight.

Crane stood dazed for a moment, before shaking his head and skirting around the fight, using the smoke from his bomb to shadow him from the snipers as he crept away from the fray, his tattered cape swishing just a little bit behind him as he entered the mansion.

Becky ducked around the corner as two guards streaked past her, watching warily as they scanned their surroundings, their flashlights coming dangerously close to her location.

"You sure she's in here, Frank? She could still be with Scarecrow in the Medical building," one of the guards spoke nervously, tapping his foot rapidly in nervous anxiety.

The guard with a scar on his left eye, who she presumed to be Frank, just scowled, shushing the other guard harshly. "She's here, all right. The cameras near the entrance caught her coming inside about thirty minutes ago. And since we haven't heard anything from the guards in the front, she's still inside."

Becky cursed silently, inching slowly forward to the grate in the wall, holding her breath as the Frank's flashlight nearly caught the hem of her skirt. If there were guards at the gate, she would have to find another entrance outside. And this Frank guy, whoever he was, seemed a least a little bit smarter than he looked, so she would need to be careful. Spotting a grate at the edge of the wall nearby, she pulled on the grate, sending the rusting metal screeching as it popped off the wall.

Immediately, the flashlights pointed towards the grate, the sound of footsteps coming closer as Becky hastily backed into her previous position, praying for her heart to stop beating so loudly in her chest as they came just a few inches away from her position. She could try to make a run for it, but from the pounding footsteps coming from the back of the room, she needed to act quickly.

"Do you think she went in there?" the younger guard asked, on his knees as he peered into the small grate.

Frank knelt down as the other guard scooted out of the way, shining his flashlight into the vent. "I don't know. She could be in there, or she could still be hiding in this room. Either way, let's— "he was interrupted by a sharp smack as Becky swung at him with her cane, the metal stick smacking Frank in the jaw as she elbowed the younger guard out of the way, taking the man by surprise as she dashed into the vent with almost inhuman speed, vanishing from his sight before he could draw his pistol.

"She got away!" the man cried, cursing as he grabbing his flashlight as he tried to peer into the shaft.

"Leave it!" Frank growled, rubbing his jaw as two other senior guards arrived at his location. "Just get moving towards the back. We can't let her breach the factory."

"You heard him, men. Spread out and if you see anyone even resembling Becky Albright, we shoot on sight," one of the older guards growled, gesturing for his men to follow him as they marched towards the back of the garden.

Frank, however, stayed behind. "I know you're in there, little witch. And when I find you, I'm going to make sure that there's nothing left of you to bury," he snarled into the shaft, before leaving to catch up with the others.

Becky released her held breath as she heard Frank stomp away, thanking whatever powers that be that he wasn't coming in after her. Something didn't seem right with that guy, and not just because of the stale smell of alcohol on his breath.

She shook her head. It didn't matter right now. She only had two hours left until sunrise and she needed to lay down the last of her trophies before she could meet up with Jonathan. Perhaps along the way she could figure out what they were hiding in that factory.

Looking around at the crumpled ruins around her, she started to grin. _This place will do perfectly,_ she thought, pulling out one of the trophies from her pack as she climbed up the steps.

Crane let out a grin as he sauntered through the door, seeing no sign of guards anywhere in the building. _It seems the good Warden didn't think to plan ahead for this scenario,_ he thought, casting a glance behind him as his long legs took the steps two at a time as he ascended the stairs, leaning in as he slowly peaked his head through the large, bronze doors. Finding the cost clear, he poked his head back in before pushing open the doors.

"So far, so good," he murmured to himself, leaping over the metal detector booth and onto the opposite side, brushing a bit of dirt from his costume. "Now, if I were hiding a secret formula, where would I put it?"

He thought of the safe in Dr. Young's office, but shook his head. No, she probably already knew that he was on the loose and already took it out. And it couldn't be on her person either, as she probably wouldn't want anyone to get a hold of it, if it was as classified as he suspected. But then where would it be hidden?

" **Stumped, Johnny-boy?"**

He glanced behind him to find his doppelganger idly tapping his syringed claws against a filing cabinet, the clinking of metal against metal echoing loudly against the silence of the lobby.

"I'm not stumped," Crane protested, letting out a loud huff as he glared at the figment. "I'm just thinking of other options for where that darn formula could be."

 **"** ** _Right_** **,** " he quipped sarcastically, his fingers stopping their clinking as he gripped the file cabinet.

"Well, then if you're so smart, where do you think that woman put it then, hmm?" he snapped.

The doppelganger chuckled, slowly creeping up to his creator. " **Really, I thought you would be smart enough to figure this out. But fine, if I were to hide a scrap of paper with important information, what better way than to hide it with thousands of other papers."**

Crane's eyebrows rose as he realized what he was saying. "You think she hid it in the library?"

Scarecrow shrugged. " **Who knows? You'll just have to find out,"** he said, his amber eyes gleaming as he slowly started to fade away.

Letting out a small huff, he turned towards the direction of the library, hoping that his intuition was right and the formula would be there.


	13. Monster

**Hey, guys. I am sooooooooooooo sorry this is so late. A lot has happened since Thanksgiving. First my computer crashed right before finals started, and couldn't be fixed until after Christmas. Then, my Grandmommy died two weeks after Christmas, school started, and then I got a new roommate. So, in a nutshell, thing's haven't been going as planned lately. Luckily, I have two days off weekly from college (I know, lucky right :D), so I should be getting chapters done faster, homework considering.**

 **Thank you all for being so patient with me.**

After doing one final check to make sure the trophies were in the appropriate place, Becky exited her hiding place, letting out a sigh as she had to, yet again, crawl through another vent cover. _Geez, how many vents does one asylum need? And some of the places where they're placed don't make sense at all. I mean, shouldn't these vents lead outside or to a centralized airflow somewhere?_ she thought in exasperation, getting back on her hands and knees as she crawled through the vent, freezing as she heard the steady click of the guard's shoes.

 _Great, another guard. And I don't have any fear gas left to scare him away from the opening_ , she thought, as she rifled through the pockets of her dress for the pellets, only to find nothing. She glanced at her cane, and suddenly had an idea. Switching it to its flamethrower setting, she eased the opening of the cane through the slit in the grate, aiming it directly at her enemy's shoes.

She pulled the trigger, watching with a snicker as the guard started screaming, jumping up and down as he tried to slip out of his burning shoes, hopping away to cool his flaming feet as she shoved the grating harshly to the ground, crawling out quietly as she crept around the corridor, kneeling behind the wall as the guard came running back, sans shoes, and growled at the hidden villainess.

"I know you're here," he snarled, his gun cocked and his finger to the trigger, his sights flickering this way and that on the linoleum floor. "Show yourself!"

With a grin, Becky slid her cane out in front of her, its crook yanking the man's foot out from under him as she brought it above her head, sending the butt of the cane down on the man's forehead, knocking him out cold.

"Nighty-night, knucklehead," she cooed, slipping the guard's I.D. from the clip on his belt as she merrily skipped towards the open door overlooking the aviary. Looking down, she spotted at least five guards patrolling the area, not thinking to look up at the trespasser above them. Several grates dotted the area where the guards patrolled, making a potential path that she could use, moderately concealed by the dense shrubbery in the area.

The smell was much stronger here. She was close. All that stood between her now was a handful of guards. "Now, which one do I start with?" she muttered, looking between the guards as if trying to decide which meal she wanted to eat at a local fast-food restaurant.

Choosing her target, she leaped down from her perch, a sly smile on her face as she stalked her prey.

As Crane pushed the door open into the library, he frowned as he looked at the hundreds of books stacked before him, stretching several stories down from his level into the underground.

"Hmm, now in which book would our good doctor hide that formula?" he muttered to himself, his fingers lightly brushing the spines of the books as he peered at the titles. He tried to recall what he knew of Dr. Young. She was young, 25, the same age as Becky, he noted absently, graduated at the top of her class at Gotham University, earning her doctorates for Sociology and Psychology at Yale. Her major realm of study was in...

Suddenly, Crane knew immediately what he was looking for. Running downstairs to the bottom level, he traced his fingers along the spines of the books before suddenly stopping and pulling out a book on the study of social psychology. Flipping through the book, he stopped at the section that spoke about the correspondence bias. He turned the page, and was about to keep going when he spotted the small sheet of paper neatly folded into the crease in the spine, nearly looking like another page itself.

He smiled, proceeding to unfold the sheet of paper and see what this Titan project was supposed to be. His blood turned to ice as he read over the paper once, then twice, trying to confirm what he was reading was not just a hallucination.

"This…This is worse than I thought," he whispered, his eyes wide and frightened. "Those idiots cannot be serious! They cannot possibly know what they are dealing with!"

Tucking the note and book back in its place, he scrambled towards the exit, shouldering his way through the door as he raced towards the exit, panic propelling his legs through the corridor with frightening despite how fast he was going, the corridor just seemed to be getting longer and longer. And no matter how quickly he moved, he seemed no further from his goal than he was to begin.

Crane stopped for a minute, trying to catch his breath. Something was wrong. He should be at the door by now. "What's going on?" he cried, a feeling of dread starting to creep up his spine.

He was answered by an ear-piercing screech, the intensity of the sound ringing in his ears as he flinched, covering his ears with his hands.

Suddenly, the southern corridor transformed from its space of desks and filing cabinets to an open field. Night suddenly turned to day, illuminating the fields of wheat before him as far as the eye could see. In the distance, he could spy an old church, its ancient stone walls crumbling in on itself as the field began to overtake the old building.

"Am I…dreaming?" he asked himself, staring at the familiar fields in front of him, his legs brushing against the wheat stalks as he slowly, mechanically, started walking. His mind was still in a state of disbelief, trying to convince him that it was just a hallucination or a dream, yet it was constantly being disproved by just how lucid and real this so-called dream became.

After what felt like an hour of walking, Crane suddenly came to a stop besides a large cross-like object. Confused, he reached out to touch it, and was suddenly reminded of the scarecrow he used to rest by in his childhood. Beneath it, just barely visible between the stalks of wheat, were bones, bleached white from scavengers and the sun, sitting scattered below his feet.

With a start, he realized just where he was. This was Granny's home, his former home back in Arlem, Georgia. And, he knew, below his feet was the bones of his Granny, the bones of the one he had murdered in twisted karmatic justice by sending a flock of crows upon her. He looked up at the naked scarecrow pole, the wood suddenly carved into the words asking one thing: DO YOU REGRET?

Becky smiled as she looked down at her handiwork. Five unconscious guards were scattered around the room, taser gun cables hooked into their uniforms, confetti from the gun sprayed all over their limp forms.

"Hmm, I guess the security here is as bad as they say," she said, blowing lightly on the taser rifle in her hand. It had been child's play to knock out the first guard and steal his gun, then proceed through the other guards as quietly as possible. The only trouble she ran into was the guard in the control tower. That one had been tricky, but luckily, she had the element of surprise and was able to ambush him before he had a chance to respond.

Now that Becky had time to focus on her surroundings and not on the guards, she could definitely detect the reeking smell coming from the walls. Following her nose, she was led to a small outcropping on the other side of the room. As she came closer, she let out a cough, trying to drive the smell away from her. Now that she was so close, the smell of disinfectant and burnt oil was so strong that she was starting to gag. She looked at the stone wall in front of her. This was definitely the place.

 _But how do I get in there?_ She thought, feeling around the wall for any kind of secret panel or stone she could remove to find the access point. "Aha!" she exclaimed as she pulled a brick out of place, revealing a key-card slot.

She looked at the tag she had taken from the guard earlier. _Let's just hope this works_ , she thought, mentally crossing her fingers as she slid the key card into the slot.

With a happy beep, the light on the reader flashed green and the rocks parted, revealing a closed, metal door with a small doorknob. Taking a deep breath and preparing herself for whatever she would find, Becky slowly pushed opened the door.

The stench of bleached oil hit her like a punch in the face, sending her reeling back a step from the overpowering scent, her eyes watering. For a split second, she considered closing the door and walking away, but her curiosity stayed her feet, preventing her from turning away. When she was finally able to open her eyes, she was astounded by what she saw.

The room was huge, spanning at least ten feet above her head and twice as much in width. The fluorescent lights inside gave off little room for dark shadows, leaving her unable to hide. The floors and walls glowed with green, liquid running quickly through the see-through pipes in the floor and walls, halfway covered by the plants around it.

 _What on earth is this place? And what is that green liquid?_ She thought, her low-heeled shoes clacking on the glass beneath her. She could see a few of the staff here, their white coats reflecting the tinted green of their surroundings. They didn't look like any of the Arkham psychologists or doctors she had ever seen, and their faces were covered by gas masks.

Thankfully, they didn't seem to have noticed her, too caught up in the research they were doing to glance up from their work. Becky took a few steps forward, wincing every time her shoes clacked in the nearly silent laboratory. She knew she had no reason to be here, and she knew security wouldn't be long coming if these scientists even so much as glanced away from their machines.

For some reason, looking at the swirling liquid, she couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the color, the glowing green luring her forward. Stretching out, she touched her hand against the glass.

So drawn to the glow was she that Becky didn't notice one of the scientists bump his friend, pointing directly at her. She didn't notice, that is, until one of them spoke up.

"What are you doing here?" growled a researcher, his voice distorted by the mask he was wearing.

Becky gasped, turning around to face the man, who was slowly inching closer to her. Her mind began to panic a little as she slowly took a step back.

"Um, I-I.." Becky stammered, mentally smacking herself for being so foolish. Standing around in the open was not her smartest idea.

"This facility is off-limits to anyone not authorized. Please state your intentions," he barked, taking a step closer to her, his hands outstretched as if to grab her.

"I-I…" she stammered again, her panic preventing her mind from thinking up a suitable plan of attack. _C'mon, Becky, you were once one of the best debaters in your class,_ she thought to herself, trying to clear her head. _You can bluff your way out of here_. "Of course I'm authorized here," she lied, rummaging through her pockets for her keycard. "I have my keycard right here. See!" she said, flashing her keycard quickly.

The man caught her hand, looking hard at the keycard. "Unless you had a sex change and your name changed to a Mark Hamilton, I don't think this is your keycard."

Becky blushed, a nervous smile on her face as she turned the card around, almost smacking herself for forgetting to change it out with another guard's out in the other area. "Oops," she whispered.

The man didn't hesitate. "Security!" he yelled, smashing down on a button on one of the compartments. The sound of alarms echoing in the large, glassy room and the yell of "Security!" pushed her over the edge. Her eyes now glowing as green as the liquid in the room, she yanked her hand away with inhuman force, landing a kick that sent the man flying across the room and into the glass. With a shout, the other scientists rushed towards her, intent on keeping her away from the door.

Her mind stuck in panic, Becky didn't realize her own strength as she plowed into the group, her body in a flurry as she punched and kicked anything that was nearby, intent on getting away at any cost. So intent was she, that she ignored the pain that erupted through her arm as a pruning scalpel pierced her flesh, sending droplets of blood flowing from her ulna down to the floor. With the scalpel still embedded, she punched one of the men in her way, the force shattering the man's rib cage as he fell to the floor, howling in pain. With a sharp roundhouse kick, she sent another into the wall, smashing the glass display and severely denting the liquid container, sending small trickles of liquid down onto the floor and onto the man, his screams deafening as it started to eat through his arm.

Immediately, the sound of gunfire could be heard, but Becky paid no attention. Her head was still clouded with panic; her body numb to the bullets piercing through flesh as she fought like a Viking Berserker. With a swipe, she sent one guard flying, her heartbeat racing madly inside her chest as another guard shot at her, the bullets missing her head by mere centimeters as she crashed into him, knocking him away as she slammed against the door, scrambling madly against it before reaching the knob and yanking it hard.

With a roar, she leaped out of the door, not daring to stop until she was outside of the Gardens. She had only one thought now: Escape.


	14. Nature or Nurture?

**It's finally here. After a long and eventful couple of weeks, I have finally finished another chapter. Things have been on a pretty good high note for me. First off, my boyfriend (I'm a girl BTW) of five years got to visit for Spring Break. The next week, my Grandmother visited and treated me to some fine dining at my favorite restaurants, and in approximately 6 hours is my birthday. So I've been on quite a high lately.**

 **The only thing that could possibly put a damper on that was the receiver for my family's tv and ethernet going out, but eh, what can you do? Also, on a side note, I finally, after nearly 15 years, tied a ponytail all by myself, so I am super stoked. I know that doesn't seem like much, but when you're an Aspie with motor control issues, its a pretty big deal.**

 **But anyway, that's not what you guys came here for, is it? You came here to see Scarecrow and Becky, didn't you? Well, I promise you, they are here, as well as a few people we have not heard from in a while.**

 **Also, there is a bit of nausea fuel here, so if you are squicked out easily, I suggest you skip the first part. I would not like you to throw up please, for all of our sakes.**

 **But anyway, onward to story**

Jonathan looked down at the bones near his feet, contemplating those words. This was the woman who had abused him, who had made him work and toil and offered him no comfort, no compassion, and no happiness whatsoever throughout nearly half his life. The one who had locked him in the atrium of that run-down chapel and tortured him with crows over and over every time he did something wrong.

Yet, this was also the one who had raised him, who had provided him with food and shelter and cared enough about him to not abandon him outside to die when he was just an infant. He knew that a lot of her mistreatment was due to Alzheimer's, and that some days she honestly couldn't remember what she had been doing just a few minutes ago.

But that did nothing to excuse her actions to him. She had no excuse. Even if Alzheimer's and dementia was to blame for her fiercer cruel and unusual punishments, that didn't excuse the hatred he felt from her in her saner and rational days. He glared down at the bones, before kicking the skull aside. "You got what you deserve, Granny," he growled, beginning to walk away from the broken scarecrow.

As he walked away, he could hear crows cawing from a distance. Turning around, he saw the crows start to peck at the old bones. Giving a small, half-smirk, he started to continue along his way.

"And do you think you are any different?"

Jonathan stiffened as a cold, bony hand touched his shoulder. Shaking with dread, he turned his head to see the aged, wrinkly skin of his Great-Grandma Keene, the flesh slopping off her bones and hanging limply, like a carcass, its wrinkled mass twisting around the bones like a cord.

Turning to face her, Crane couldn't help but gag and tried not to throw up in his mouth as he beheld the twisted, animated remains of his Granny, all that remained of her to be called flesh was twisted across her bones and tendons like some sort of macabre shawl. Her skull lacked eyes of any sort, but still managed to pierce through his soul just the same. In her hands, she held the twisted cross of the former scarecrow's foundation, leaning hunched over as she pulled herself towards him, her breath reeking of the grave and earth from which she came.

"Do you think you are any different from me, Johnny?" she repeated, her voice as creaky and nasty as the rotting, brittle skin adorning her bones.

"Y-Yes," he squeaked out, trying to back away, but her cold, rotting fingers gripped onto him like talons, the cawing of the crows getting closer and closer.

Granny cocked her head to the side. "Really? Would you mind telling her that?" she asked, her bony fingers pointing towards a gravestone. "Or them?" she repeated as another gravestone appeared out beside it, then another and another until the whole field was filled with gravestones, surrounding him on all sides.

Crane gasped, starting to shake his head and repeat a shocked "No" over and over again as he recognized each name on the gravestones, all of them his victims over his entire career, from his first kill, Sherry Squires and her boyfriend Bo, to the patients he had worked on and had administered drugs to in the Asylum when he was just an intern, to the students and professors he had murdered on his first days of becoming a Rogue to the thousands of others since, each and every one of them pointing their fingers at him, accusing him, screaming for his blood.

Turning away from the ghastly scene, he found Granny chiseling on another one, set apart from the rest. For some reason, he didn't recognize this one.

"Which one is that?" he asked hesitantly, looking with fear out at the lone gravestone.

Granny looked back at him, a disturbing, unnatural grin on her nonexistent lips.

"Why, don't you know? This is the girl that got away," she whispered to him, letting out a shrill cackle as she revealed the name BECKY ALBRIGHT carved into the stone.

"NO! No! Please! Not her! Not her! Anyone but her!" he wailed, tears streaming down his eyes as he collapsed before the gravestone, his hands pounding against the earth as he looked upon the grave marker before him, the face of the woman he loved, the woman that was his heart and soul, carved into the tombstone, her face scrunched in the same horrified expression he had seen when he had confronted her on the crashed subway station 6 years ago.

All the while, Granny let out a mirthless laugh. "Are you beginning to understand now, Johnny-boy? Are you beginning to understand the monster you truly are?"

She continued to cackle as tears streamed down his cheeks, all the while someone called his name.

He curled up into a ball, pleading for this nightmare to be over.

All the while Granny continued to call his name.

"Jonathan! Jonathan, please wake up! Please!" Becky yelled, shaking him roughly.

With a stiffened gasp, Crane opened his eyes, finding himself out on the grounds of Arkham East, his arms grasping onto a gravestone of the late Amadeus Arkham.

"B-Becky?" he whispered, hesitantly, almost disbelieving his eyes as he opened them to her freckled face.

"Shh. It's okay, Jon. I'm here," she soothed, already recognizing the effects of fear toxin, and from what she could tell, it was a pretty severe reaction. Pulling him close, she gently whispered in his ear, "I'm not going away. I'm right here."

At her soothing voice, he wrapped his arms around her, steadily pulling himself back to reality as his mind confirmed that the woman he adored was not going to disappear. "Becky, what happened? Why am I outside?"

"No idea. I just found you out here. But from what you were mumbling and the way you were clutching that tombstone, it must have been pretty nasty."

"You got that right," Crane huffed, slowly getting up from his crouched position on the ground. "But we need to get out of here. It's almost sunrise and the next shift will be coming in at any minute."

"What about Hush?" she asked. She doubted Hush could keep up the disguise forever, and with the strange things going on in Arkham, she didn't want him ending up in the obituaries.

"Hush can take care of himself," Crane said quickly, taking her hand as he started towards the gates. "Besides, with him inside, he'll be able to get the rest of the trophies placed without arousing suspicion."

She shrugged, not willing to argue against that logic, especially when she wanted to get out of Arkham just as much as he did. With a cautious glance behind her, she ran alongside the Scarecrow as the two dashed towards the exit, dodging the sentries placed along the way as they inched through the bars of the old gate in Arkham North and out to freedom.

Friitawa examined herself in the mirror, making sure that she had removed any blemish on her face with her makeup. It was one of her few weaknesses, her vanity, but she couldn't resist looking perfect before an audience. It was one of the few things she still had left to control, and she would fight to her last breath to preserve it.

Crane had known that from the start, of course. A brilliant psychologist like him could tell it in the way she carried herself and her obsession with the tiniest details, whether they be in beauty or science. That was why she had come to love him. To identify a person's vices and weaknesses by a single glance was a mark of a genius, and she craved genius, especially among the craven, idiotic masses of sheep that infested this city. It was a shame she had to kill him now. She would have loved to have him by her side as they terrorized the world together as they slowly drained the people of this planet of any hope and joy they had left. After all, it was only fitting for two parasites that thrived off the fears of others.

She shook her head, untying her hair from her usual bun, letting the whitish-gold strands run down to her shoulders. It didn't matter. He would recognize her superiority soon enough. All she had to do was follow along with Ra's plan for a little while, and then when he was weak, she would strike.

Already, plans were being made to usurp him from his beloved throne. She had gained the alliance of Hugo Strange, and with his hypnotism, soon that fool Warden Sharp wouldn't be far behind. After all, the mind-control chemicals that she had stolen from the Hatter's Prototype teas would be very useful in the hands of a skilled hypnotist like Strange. Sure, it meant letting go of a precious amount of her fear toxin, but that was just part of the exchange.

She padded a bit of blush on her face, smoothing out the presence of her pale, albino skin. The serum had started to wear off, which was disappointing. She had expected the serum she had imbued last night would at least keep her condition stable for a few more days, not just for 24 hours. Unless the dosage of the serum was lowered, in which case she had to give Talia credit for being smarter than her blank face suggested.

 _No matter,_ she thought, shrugging on her signature red coat over her black bodysuit. _I'll deal with Talia soon enough._ But first, she needed to meet an old friend.

Hugo Strange grinned as he observed the video recordings of the camera in the Morgue, watching intently as Becky ducked and dodged around Zsasz's knives at nearly inhuman speed. _She is quite powerful_ , he thought, admiring her agility as she landed a kick to the madman's back, causing him to stumble forward a little before regaining his balance and attacking her again with his knives.

He was especially interested when Crane entered the scene, revealing that the two were, in fact, partners. Strange smiled as he confirmed his theory. The two of them were working together, and from the subtle movements of their bodies, with Crane leaning almost protectively over Becky, their relationship seemed much more than business.

 _This is an interesting development_ , thought Strange, his hand absently stroking his beard in thought. _I wouldn't have thought Crane capable of developing such a relationship, much less with someone that is his junior in both age and intellect._ He had read extensively on Crane's file and had reviewed his recordings, both during his internship at Arkham and during his stay as a criminal. Nowhere did it even hint that he was capable of such display of protectiveness and concern about another's well-being. All that mattered to him was his research, and that almost always factored into keeping anyone around.

Yet this woman was different. But why? His attention turned back to the video tape as he saw them holding each other close. Friitawa mentioned that the Scarecrow had cast her aside in favor of that girl, but that still didn't explain his motive. If he wanted to spite Friitawa for what she had done in the past, he had already accomplished his mission. Why keep the girl around? She had served her purpose, and yet, he still tolerated her presence, protected her from the other rogues, and kept her close enough to let in on his plans.

 _Did he love her?_

With a snort, Strange dismissed that thought. That creature couldn't comprehend love, much less express it. None of them could. That's why he wanted them exterminated, along with the rest of their degenerate Rogue society. Once they were removed like the dangerous and deadly parasites they were, then Gotham would be purified for the rest of its citizens, away from the menace of those degenerates. After all, evolution of humanity couldn't progress without removing the ones inhibiting its growth.

With a flick of the remote, he turned off the TV, withdrawing the VHS tape from its slot and carefully storing it in an unmarked case. He could review the rest of the tapes later. Right now, he had to get back to his little side-project.

The morning sun was just slightly above the horizon as the two criminals made their way across the bridge linking Arkham to the Narrows. Thankfully, the morning shift hadn't started yet, so they didn't have to watch out for anyone.

"Jonathan," Becky huffed, trudging tiredly across the concrete bridge, using the curb railing to keep herself steady as she struggled to stay standing, her eyes feeling like the dried out, itchy surface of sandpaper. "Remind me when I see Eddie again to punch him in the face?"

The man left out a tired laugh. "Don't worry, I won't let you forget. I'll probably join in, too," Crane replied, his longs legs dragging slowly behind him.

"Again, why couldn't we have taken the car?" she asked, her head bobbing as she fought sleep.

"It would be too easy for the guards to trap us there," he replied, his head drooping, the hat on his head slanting precariously as it started to shift. "And anyway, Hush has the keys, so it's not like we could make a getaway in it."

"Right," Becky yawned, angling herself towards Jonathan's side as she slumped against him, already half-asleep.

Crane was bit startled as her head came crashing down against his side, but relaxed and smiled as he noticed her half-lidded eyes struggling to keep themselves open. "Hey, it's only a little farther to the lair. You can make it a little farther, can't you?" he whispered gently, his tone soft as he pulled her head up, only for it to come crashing down again.

She mumbled a muffled "I don't know" into his jacket, struggling to keep her eyes open and her legs moving as they continued onward. She shivered a little as the cold Gotham wind blew into the cut on her gown, angling herself more into the warmth of Jonathan's jacket.

The master of fear blushed as he felt her shift, her front starting to face his side as he struggled to keep her moving. With the way that her gown was cut, he could see just the beginning of her small cleavage poking out through the slice. He tried to keep his eyes forward, but every so often, he couldn't help but glance back.

A car horn honking shook him out of his daze, and he looked up in time to see the black Nissan Bluebird come to a stop nearby, the windows rolling down to reveal the grinning face of Hush. "Hey, strangers, need a lift?"

Crane flashed a tired smile, playing along. "Why, certainly, my good man. Do you have enough room for my lady friend?"

Hush laughed, inviting them inside as he took off into the Narrows.

"So, did you get all those trophies set for Riddler?" he asked, glancing in the mirror at Becky, her head slumped against the window, the seat belt providing a semi-hammock.

"No," Crane huffed, taking off his hat and mask and placing them in his lap. "And frankly, Edward can go screw himself with those trophies for all I care."

Hush let out a snort. "Would serve that little troll right, too." He noticed Crane looking over his shoulder, checking on his partner. "Hey, she's fine back there. No need to keep looking over your shoulder every few seconds."

"I know," Crane sighed, noting the way her curly hair swirled around her face. "But I can't help but think that something strange is going on."

"Stranger than normal?"

Crane chuckled. "Much stranger, Thomas. Things aren't making sense. First, I've noticed that she seems more on edge than normal."

Hush raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that just from being in Arkham?"

"I wasn't finished. Then, when we broke out of Arkham, I could have sworn she had been shot as we made our escape. But when I go to examine her, not only did she have no bullet wounds, but the scars she had previously are all gone. Not to mention that she believes that there is a doppelganger of her running around in her costume and haunting her dreams at night."

"Hmm," he mused, glancing briefly away from the wheel to the woman in the back. "Do you think it has something to do with Fright's Night?"

Crane sighed. "Fright's Night" was what they referred to the night of the Scarebeast attack a week ago. It was still a sore subject with the man, especially since he was aware of everything that happened that to him that night, but could do nothing to stop it. Not to mention that everything lately came back to that night. "I believe so. But I have no way of knowing for certain until I can run a few tests back at the lab." He turned to face the front, his arms crossed and a small, pursed scowl on his lips. "For all I know, this could be just coincidence. But if I'm right…"

"Then she could be dealing with the side effects of an unstable solution."

"Exactly," Crane replied, his thoughtful expression turning worried. "She could either have to depend on me to keep her stable and functioning or we could risk having another potential Scarebeast on our hands. Either one is not something we can handle right now."

He was just about to speak up when he spotted the warehouse hideout. "Well, whatever happens, I'm sure you guys will survive somehow. You always do."

Crane chuckled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Thomas," he said, unbuckling as the car pulled to a stop at the empty lot in the back. "But I prefer to have proof of that before I commit to it any further."

The younger man just chuckled, shaking his head as he waved goodbye to the couple before backing out and driving away.

"Now then," Becky yawned, stretching her arms up into the air. "What was it you and Hush were talking about? It seemed really important."

Jonathan shook his head with a wry smile. "It doesn't matter right now," he replied, his hand around her shoulders as he guided her towards the warehouse. "We can discuss that tomorrow. Right now, we both need some rest."

She paused at the door. "Jon?"

"Yes?"

She smiled up at him, her freckles creating a rosy pattern on her cheeks. "Thanks. You and Hush didn't have to come with me."

His arms slid around her as he pulled her close to him, feeling comforted with her in his embrace as he slid his palm over her cheek. "Well, if I recall correctly, almost two months age a little mouse came to me and decided she would only be my henchgirl if I fulfilled her conditions, one of which was to protect her."

Becky gave him a teasing grin, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh, come on. It's more than that and you know it."

Craned laughed, giving her a quick peck on the lips as he held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, fine, fine. I guess it could also be that I've developed a soft spot for my precious plucky girl."

She giggled, patting him on the head. "That's better." She opened the door, already two steps inside before she turned around to find Jonathan still there, a blissful smile on his face as he stared at her. "You just going to stand there gawking?" she teased.

He blinked a few times, before blushing and pulling his straw hat downwards. "Right. Sorry," he muttered quickly, before shutting the door behind him.


	15. The Bargain

**Hello, everyone. I'm back. Now, some of you have wondered if I am going to finish this story. In short, yes, eventually. One of my all time biggest pet peeves is a story that is never finished. Like you guys, I enjoy a good story, and I hate it when it is abandoned or cuts off right before it ends. And while I may not write in a few weeks or even months, it doesn't mean that I have abandoned it; more like I am having either school, writer's block, or a distraction keeping me from updating.**

 **Believe me, with my ADD, it's often more of a distraction or school than writer's block. As much as I would not have it so, school takes presidence over fanfiction. It's just a fact of life, and I can't juggle both a story and school full-time, so I have to put one or the other on the backburner for a while until I can get back to it. Plus, inspiration is a tricky mistress, and my muse is often as distracted as I am.**

 **But no worries. School is over, vacation has started, and I am relaxed with little WiFi, which makes an excellent combination for finding inspiration and writing.**

 **Also, you might notice a few curse words in the following chapter. Normally, I don't like writing curse words for characters. It just makes them feel kinda crude and unsophisticated, you know. I mean, this is the Rogues Gallery we are talking about, these guys are the supposed to be the coolest bad guys ever, Scarecrow and Riddler especially, so having them say crude words all the time makes them seem more like thugs than supervillains. But, I do know that everyday people do curse a couple of times, so for the sake of realism, I'm trying to incorporate that into the dialogue.**

 **But I've babbled enough. Let's read!**

Crane was barely two steps inside his hideout when a thought occurred to him.

"Becky?"

"Yeah?"

The master of fear clenched his fists, unsure if he should bring this up. On one hand, if they addressed the issue immediately, then the sooner they could figure out what was causing her hallucinations. But on the other, they were both exhausted from escaping Arkham again, and perhaps the situation was not so dire as to be enacted immediately. They had gone all this time without anything happening, right? Maybe a few more hours wouldn't be so bad.

"N-Nevermind," he said quickly, turning away. _It could wait. I don't need to worry her right now_.

Becky sighed in frustration, her hands on her hips. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," he said, trying to dismiss the question. It was foolish of him to have tried to bring it up in the first place.

She pulled his head to look her in the eyes. "No, it's obviously something if it's gotten you this anxious."

"It doesn't matter!" Crane snapped, pushing past her towards his bedroom. "It can wait until morning."

"Look, just talk to me, Jonathan! Whatever is troubling you, we can face it together," she snapped back, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly to keep him from walking away.

Jonathan looked down, before sighing in defeat. He knew from the moment he mentioned it that she would not let this go. Tenacity was one of the many traits he admired about her, although it didn't work out favorably for him some of the time. "You really want to know?" he asked tiredly.

She nodded, lips pursed as she tapped her fingers against her hips as she waited for his reply.

"I…was wanting to ask if you were having any more troubles with that doppelganger of yours you say was running around," he replied, a tinge of irritation in his tone. "Among other things. Look, just forget I said anything."

Becky sighed, knowing that once Jonathan had dug in his heels, he was not to be dissuaded. She couldn't concentrate anyway even if she wanted to talk about it. Her mind felt like a smoothie, mixing and blurring all together until she couldn't tell what she wanted. "Fine. I guess it would be a bad time to think about this while we're both exhausted."

Jonathan smirked, pleased that he was right. "See? Now was that so hard?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said, lightly swatting him on the chest, a small, cute smile reappearing on her lips at his childishness. "Just remember to sleep this time."

Crane laughed. "I'll try. Insomnia might have a bit of a say about that, however."

"Well, then tie it up and douse it with fear gas," she said, letting out a tired giggle as she yawned. "Just get some sleep anyway you can."

Crane chuckled. "I'll do my best," he replied, pulling her close as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Good night, Becky."

She smiled, before angling her head up and pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Good night, Jonathan. I love you. Never forget that."

Jonathan smiled peacefully, feeling himself starting to relax as she pulled away. Those three little words never ceased to amaze him. But as he shut the door, he couldn't help the nagging sense of dread from curling around his heart like a vice. Not only did he have Titan to worry about, but Becky's snappy behavior and her mysterious condition, too.

He would rather eat his own hat than admit it, but he was scared. He couldn't place it, but there was something familiar about her new abilities, something that just didn't seem right. He tried to recall where he might have seen someone with these abilities, but nothing came up. The best he could guess would be a super-powered being of some sort, like the Flash or Superman, but none of the abilities seemed right.

With a huff, he shuffled under the covers and turned off his light. Those matters could wait. Right now, he needed to rest if he was to prepare for his next move. After all, there was still an unfinished heist to plan, and he needed to be at his best to stay ahead of Batman.

Closing his eyes, Crane drifted off to sleep

~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the door was shut, Becky's smile fell from her face as she drifted towards her room, her heart clenching tightly in her chest as her hazel eyes watered. Exhaustion wasn't the only reason she didn't want to broach that subject.

As much as she tried to deny it and force it to the back of her mind, she was afraid. She had been afraid ever since that dreadful Night of Fright. Afraid for her life, seeing her dream of being a good citizen flushing down the toilet and her future so uncertain, for her Jonathan and the life they lived, constantly on watch for enemies in the night, and for her friend, Alice, who was dragged into this mess in the first place because she happened to attracted Hatter's attention.

Crawling into bed, she stared up at the ceiling, watching as the smoke alarm's light blinked steadily on and off. A low rumble sounded in the distance, hinting at the approaching rain.

 _It isn't just fear_ , she mused, sliding under the covers as she adjusted her pillows. _It's also my damn pride. Why can't I just bring myself to tell Jonathan about this? He's my boyfriend. I should trust him more than I trust anyone. Yet why am I still trying to deal with this alone?_

She rolled over onto her back, letting out a deep breath she didn't realize she was holding. It ate at her heart that she couldn't trust him. He protected her from Batman and the other rogues, gave her a place to call home when she could barely pay rent, and had even saved her life even though it had caused him injury. He told her he loved her, showed how much she meant to him by listening to her, offered her comfort when she was feeling down, and keeping her close even though she had slowed him down with her leg.

Yet, someplace deep in her mind, she felt she couldn't trust him. She didn't understand why she still held on to that feeling. She knew what he was. She knew, and she had forgiven him despite that. Yet that feeling, that shadow of paranoia still lingered in her mind, its clawed tendrils digging into her thoughts like a knife through butter, slicing her with doubts.

And those doubts still lingered, multiplying, filling her mind with dread and distrust. No matter what he was, Jonathan Crane was still the Scarecrow. He still delighted in causing fear, still delighted in seeing innocents crying and screaming on the pavement as he watched their reaction with fascination, as if he were watching a nature documentary. The only difference now was that she was off the list.

This was why her heart still ached. It was only their agreement that held this fragile alliance together, and at any time, he could snap and she could end up dead or worse. She had seen how close he was to the brink, that night when they confessed their feeling for one another. She feared what would happen if he lost control again.

Tears fell from her eyes, splattering her freckled cheeks with water. She sniffed, wiping the tears away. It wouldn't do to think about these things right now, she reasoned. She was tired, it had been a long day, and she needed to rest. Curling up, Becky fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams plagued by the possibilities of what came in the past and the worry for what the future could hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friitawa knocked lightly on the back door to the Iceberg Lounge, shivering slightly in the chilly wind. Despite her coat providing a bit of warmth, it didn't' cover her long legs, leaving them open to the freezing breeze. She hoped Penguin's goons would get here soon. She did not want to be dragging herself back in a block of ice.

To her relief, the bronze slit in the door opened, a pair of eyes peering through the darkness of the alleyway. "Openin' hours aren't 'til ten. Come back later."

"I'm not here for a drink. I'm here to see Penguin. We have…business to discuss" she said, her foot tapping impatiently on the frosty ground.

The man shook his head. "No can do, doll. Penguin ain't acceptin' any invitations right now."

She smirked, her gaze predatory as she eyed the man behind the door. "Just tell him that Linda Friitawa is here to see him. That should get him running"

"Fine, but don't expect him to actually listen," the man huffed, sliding the slot shut as he went to get his boss.

Friitawa's smile deepened. "Oh, he will, if the fat midget knows what's good for him," she muttered, adjusting her bodysuit. She had to look presentable, after all. Her pride would allow for nothing less.

A few minutes later, she could hear some squawking and a few curses before the door opened again, revealing a scowling Penguin, his top hat askew a few inches on his balding head. "Ah, Linda, it's been too long."

"It has, indeed, Oswald," she replied, her lips curled into a bestial smile. "How is business?" she asked, the well-dressed usher taking her coat as he escorted them towards an empty table, pouring a glass of wine for each of them.

"Good. No' that it's any of yer concern, Friitawa," he huffed, taking a puff from his elegant cigarette pipe, his patience wearing thin. He didn't trust that snake-tongued traitor any more than he could lift the foundation of the Lounge. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? We both know why you're here, and it's not just out o' the kindness of your cold, black heart. Ra's wants something from me, and he sent you as his little retriever to bring it back. So, what exactly is your master expecting, and why haven't ya tried to stab 'im in the back like every other one?"

Friitawa laughed, her nails tracing the edge of the cup, letting out a slight ring at a high B octave.

"Oh, Oswald, you know as well as I do that I have no 'master'," she replied, as she sipped at her wine, enjoying the cold taste of vodka on her lips.

Cobblepot let out a squawking laugh. "Is tha' why yer servin' as 'is little pet? The great Linda Friitawa, the mistress of fright, brought so low as havin' to depend on others for help. I though' that you sunk pretty low when I 'ired you, but this takes the cake."

Friitawa's eyes narrowed, her nails digging into the glass so hard that it started to crack. "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, Penguin. You of all people should know the lows people will stoop to when they're desperate. Yes, while I would rather have that charlatan's head at the end of my knife, certain situations call for me to stay my hand," she replied, watching with amusement as Cobblepot scowled with irritation at his moniker.

Penguin crossed his arms. "If you just came 'ere to insult me, then yer wastin' my time," he growled, getting up from his seat and beginning to waddle away.

"Not quite," Friitawa replied, a coy smile on her face, like an angler fish offering its lure to an unsuspecting shrimp. "I have a…. proposition for you. One that would be quite beneficial to you in the long run."

Cobblepot stopped, turning so that the broken bottle that encased his left eye gleamed in the dim lights of the Lounge. "Alright, I'm listenin'."

Friitawa's eyes gleamed, her sly smile spreading into a grin. _Got him_. "What if I can tell you that I know a way to get rid of the Joker permanently?"

Cobblepot paused for a bit, then began to laugh. "Ha! As if! I've tried for decades to get rid of tha' gaudy fool! What makes ya think that you can do any better?"

She shrugged as she pulled a bottle filled with yellow-green liquid from her cleavage. "Oh, I don't know. How about access to chemicals that would make even the Scarebeast serum sound tame in comparison?"

Penguin's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot to the brim of his top hat as he snatched the bottle from Friitawa's outreached hand, pulling it closer to his bottled eye. In composition, it resembled the Venom drug, with its homologous mixture and glow, but its color and the density of the liquid resembled something he had not seen in years. "How the 'ell did you get a hold 'o this?" he gasped.

Friitawa crossed her arms, holding a satisfied smirk on her lips. "Does it matter? All you need to know is that these chemicals are the key to making sure that the clown and anyone else you have a bone to pick with are destroyed. And all you have to do is one tiny favor for yours truly."

Cobblepot pondered these conditions. On one hand, if he had access to that chemical, it could give him a crucial edge in driving out Joker and his henchmen for good, as well as making sure that any stragglers or nuisances like Batman were picked off once the game was up. On the other, Friitawa's tiny favors always turn out to be not-so-tiny in the long run, and a huge favor such as this would make it all but impossible to not return it in the future.

"While the chemicals' handy, the Joker's a very tough man to capture. I'll need more than jus' the chemicals to take him down," he said, pocketing the chemicals in his tuxedo.

"But of course," she replied, chuckling. "This isn't the first time I've negotiated with you, Oswald. I know the location of a man that would make a nice little commander for your team. All he would need is a small dose of those chemicals and he would be ready for whatever was thrown at him and still be itching for more."

Cobblepot tapped his umbrella against his chin. "Temptin'. Very temptin'. But no dice. If I wan' brute muscle, I would jus' as well 'ire Bane."

Friitawa sighed, her face settling into a mock frown. "You drive a hard bargain, Oswald. Very well." Raising herself from the chair, she let out a long, shrill whistle.

Immediately, a black-closed assassin jumped down from the rafters in the ceiling. She bowed in greetings to the Penguin. "This is Petra Al Aziz, my bodyguard. I've heard rumors that you have a museum in this frigid icebox you call home, and what better way to display your power and wealth than a genuine Persian assassin employed by Ra's Al Ghul himself," Friitawa said, standing beside the lithe woman. "Plus, if you don't want an exhibit, I've heard she has… other uses for her talents."

The assassin licked her lips, her eyes full of alluring danger.

"So," Friitawa said with a grin, holding out her hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Cobblepot eyed the hand, before grinning himself, and shaking it. "Deal."


	16. Tainted

**Nothing to say right now about myself.**

 **Oh, but you guys are in for a treat this chapter. I'm not going to spoil it, although I will say that an old friend of Jonathan's is coming back. And perhaps we'll see what's been going on with Becky, too. I'm sure you guys are dying to find out.**

 **Also, the title was inspired by the song "Tainted" by Celldweller. Check them out if you're interested in rock/electric music.**

 **Enjoy!**  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scarebeast~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Becky ducked as a birdarang sailed over her head, the sharp edge slicing off a small piece of her hair as she ran to get away from the flashy teenager in a Robin costume. He was glaring at her, sprinting forwards in hot pursuit as she leaped over a gap in the buildings, rolling as she hit the hard concrete of the next building. If she wasn't currently busy running for her life, she would have found this kinda funny.

It had been one week since their return from Arkham, and the heist had started off reasonably well. They had set up the wireless remote controller for their fear balloon catapult, and would have successfully launched it at the elegant gala that had been situated across the street from their position, only to have the remote control wrenched from their hands by a batarang and Batman and his Robin sidekick plummeting from the sky to meet them.

They had decided to split up; Scarecrow leading Batman in one direction while Scream lured Robin in another, hoping to regroup after they had lost the flying menaces and head back to their hideout to recoup their loss.

"You know, if the circumstances were different, I would have found this flattering," Becky yelled at Robin, laughing as she leaped into the air, her cane catching on a telephone wire as she slid down towards a building across the street.

"While I appreciate the compliment, I don't think you're my type," Robin, otherwise known by the name of Tim Drake, shouted back as he glided towards her, the clip on his belt sliding across the same telephone wire, angling his body to slid down faster to catch up with the patchwork villainess.

"Heh, you aren't mine either, kid. I prefer to have dates that _don't_ try to send me to the mental ward," she retorted, unhooking her cane as she dropped down to the roof, the ruffle of her dress swirling as she dashed towards the side, hopping onto another roof as she spotted Scarecrow on another one nearby. If she could just reach him and lose Robin, they could double-team Batman and escape together.

"Well, stop running and perhaps we can work out a deal," Robin called, spotting Batman on the same rooftop as Scarecrow. If they could just corral the two together, he and Batman could trap them in a corner and force them to surrender. He feigned a grab to the left, watching as she dodged his blow and banked right, towards Batman and Scarecrow.

Tim smiled. This was exactly what he wanted.

"No chance, bird boy. I already made a deal with the devil. Any more, and I'll just look like a sucker," she replied, nearing her partner's position as his ankle hit the rim of the building. "Scarecrow, now!"

In the split-second of realization that he was being led into a trap, Robin threw his birdarang.

At the same time, Crane threw the fear toxin pellet onto the ground, right before the birdarang hit him in the head, knocking him towards the ground ten stories below.

"Jonathan!" Becky screamed, her heart pounding as she pictured him falling to his death down below, his hands reaching for her helplessly as he fell. Her normally hazel eyes flashing into a dangerous poison-green, and without a second thought to her safety or instincts, she hurled herself down after him, just narrowly missing Robin's hand as he reached out to grab her.

Jonathan closed his eyes, waiting for the sudden snap that would be his body hitting the hard ground below, only to feel someone crash into him, their arms wrapping around his thin frame as they shielded him from the ground. Opening his eyes, he was astonished to find Becky underneath him, green eyes glowing like emerald fire as she held on tight, her body instinctively relaxed as she braced for impact.

They hit the ground with the force of a crashed piano, Becky taking the brunt of the impact as Crane landed on top of her, unharmed. With a groan, he immediately slid off her, looking with amazement and fear as he tried to calm his pounding heart, wincing as he felt the pain in his broken leg where it had smashed against the concrete and the mild concussion he had experienced from the birdarang.

10 stories.

He had fallen 10 stories…and all he had was a broken leg.

His mind was still trying to process that when he heard the most beautiful sound he had ever heard: Becky Albright coughing.

Ignoring his broken leg, he crawled towards her, his eyes as large as flying saucers with fear and relief as she opened her eyes, slowly leaning upwards as she started to pick herself up, shaking her head like she had a crick in her neck. "I'm okay," she muttered, sitting herself upright as she glanced at the still wide-eyed Scarecrow.

He didn't say anything for a few moments, before he put both hands on her shoulders and, in, one large jumble, screamed, "WhatinParallax'snamewereyouthinking?! Youdon'tjust leapafterthemanwhowasfallingfromatenstorybuildinglikeit'sadiveintothelake! Areyououtofyourgodblessedmind?! Icouldhavelostyouforever! Doyouknowwhatthatwoulddotome? TheScarebeastwouldhavebeenunleashedandnothingwouldbeleftstanding, allbecauseyouwereselflessandtriedtosaveamanwithamurderrapamilewideandseventeenlifesentencesinprisonwhodoesn'tdeservetoexperienceloveinthefirstplaceand…"

He stopped his panic-driven rant when he caught sight of her still yellow-green eyes, their luminance blinding in the dim light of the alleyway.

"Wh-What happened to you?" Jonathan gasped, breath caught in his throat as he stared into her eyes.

Becky shook her head, pulling herself up shakily to her knees. "I don't know," she muttered, tears starting to form in her eyes as she hugged him tightly to her. "I just…I didn't think! I just…I couldn't let you die! Not like that! Not like that!" she murmured, just holding him close as she hiccupped quietly from her crying. From her view behind his back, she could see her reflection in a broken window pane, her eyes glowing as green as bioluminescent algae, but she was too shaken up to care.

Tears filled Jonathan's eyes as well as he returned her bone-crushing hug, holding her tight as she wept into his jacket, rubbing circles across her back. "Shh, Shh. It's okay, Becky. I'm alive. I'm okay. You don't have to worry about losing me," he whispered soothingly into her ear, not even caring that he was now leaning on his broken leg. All that mattered was her right now.

In his heart, he thanked every deity that was out there that his Becky was still alive and unharmed.

"Let's just go home," he whispered.

Becky nodded silently into his chest, pulling away as she put an arm around his back as she helped him to his feet, slowly starting their journey home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scarebeast~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin looked down at the two from his perch on the roof, watching as the two rogues stumbled away from the alleyway.

"Should we go after them, Bruce?" Tim asked, his yellow and black cape billowing in the breeze. Beside him, he could see his mentor and hero, Batman, shake his head.

"Let them go for now, Tim. I doubt they will be causing any more trouble in the next few days," he replied, his voice still a bit shaky from the fear gas he had inhaled when the fear bomb went off.

"What about Scream? She didn't seem hurt from that fall," Robin asked, still uncertain. It felt wrong for him to just let a criminal escape unless they were being tracked. It just allowed them the opportunity to lick their wounds and come back refreshed and stronger than ever.

"Scream won't retaliate if Scarecrow's out of commission. The only reason she even joins in on the heist is her loyalty to him, not out of any general malice on her part." Batman replied, already turning away from the two as he made his way to the opposite edge of the building. "Right now, we have other things to worry about."

Robin nodded reluctantly, casting one last glance at the two before following the caped crusader into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scarebeast~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly midnight by the time the two had gotten back to the hideout, with Crane still using Becky as a crutch to keep the weight off his broken limb. The two didn't speak one word to each other throughout the journey back.

By that time, Becky's eyes had faded back to hazel, but the damage was done. She knew there was something majorly wrong with her now. But just what was the problem was something she couldn't answer. Before, she could just brush it off as something in the environment, or her stress and exhaustion, or even her adrenaline playing tricks with her.

A part of her was glad that she could finally confirm for certain that what she was seeing and feeling wasn't just her mind playing tricks on her. But the other was dreading how this would affect her life and her relationship with Jonathan.

Jonathan, meanwhile, felt a knot of worry balling up in his stomach. Her eyes changing color was the least of his worries right now. What he was worried about was her supposedly invulnerability. He had a similar invulnerability when he became the Scarebeast, as he only had a small scar to show from his near-death at the hands of a wood-saw, a plan gone horribly awry when Batman had tracked him to his former lair near an abandoned logging plant. The minute his back hit that rusty saw, his fear of dying, the pain of the sharp instrument, and his anger at Batman for foiling his plan allowed him to transform, preventing his death.

Yet he saw no such defensive reaction. By all rights, they should've been broken and shattered across the concrete like so many broken twigs, yet here they were, with nothing worse than a broken leg in Jonathan's case and a slight crick in the neck for Becky.

With a kick, Becky slammed the door shut, not even bothering to lock it as she pulled up a chair from the table as she carefully maneuvered him into place.

He took a seat, as Becky sat across from him on the opposite side, each staring at the other, hoping one of them would have the courage to speak up.

This continued for five minutes, just sitting there, eyeing each other, before Becky finally spoke up, "I guess the truth's out in the open now."

Crane raised an eyebrow, before sliding off his mask, staring at it quietly. "That's one way of putting it," he replied, his voice soft as he looked up at her as she looked off to the side, avoiding his eyes. "How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?"

Becky gulped, looking down at her clasped hands. "Since my second day at Arkham," she murmured, feeling like she was back in the psychiatrist's office at Arkham all over again, but instead of being interrogated by a stranger, she was being interrogated by Jonathan, her best friend, partner, and lover. In a way, it was much worse than anything those stuffy guards or psychiatrists at Arkham could inflict.

Crane nodded, pulling out a small piece of paper as he began scribbling the details onto the sheet. "And my guess this isn't just to do with your imaginary friend?"

She shook her head, wringing her hands nervously. "No," she replied, letting out a deep breath as she tried to compose herself. She couldn't afford to break down in front of him again. "Certain…stimuli such as sounds and smells seem more sensitive now. Not to mention…" she trailed off.

"What?" Crane asked, before noticing her holding back tears. "Becky, what happened?"

She turned away, her eyes brimming with tears as she struggled to hide her face. "I…I don't want to talk about it."

"Becky," Crane whispered, getting up from his chair and limping towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he turned her to face him. "I know this is painful. Believe me, I know. But I can't help identify what is happening to you if I don't know the full story."

She let out a tired huff, looking up at him briefly before wiping her eyes with the edge of her dress, taking off her mask as well and setting it down on the table, fiddling with a loose thread on the face. "Do you remember about a week ago when we had to hide those stupid trophies in Arkham?"

Jonathan nodded.

"Well…" Becky started, before recounting the events of that night, from her stint in the medical facility to her escape from the secret laboratory in the botanical garden. She watched as Crane's reactions went from concerned to worried to downright shocked as she described what happened to her in the medical facility, to barely concealed anger as she described her ambush by Zsasz, and then finally into a look of guilt as she described what happened to her in the gardens.

Jonathan, who had listened from his perch on the seat scooted up beside hers, became silent as she finished her tale, looking down at the table, this time the one being unable to meet her eyes.

"Jon, is something wrong? Is it something I said?" she asked, as she noticed him leaving his seat.

Crane paused, before shaking his head. "I've…had my suspicions before, but now…" he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought before he tilted his head up to look at her.

"Jonathan…"

"I have a theory on why you've been experiencing these symptoms. But, if I'm to know for sure, I need a blood and DNA sample from you. And if my theory is correct…" he paused, before his eyes lowered and he frowned worriedly, before shaking his head again. "Then we have a lot more problems than Batman to worry about."

Becky gulped as Crane hobbled quickly down into the basement lab, coming back a few minutes later with a Q-Tip and a syringe.

Taking the Q-Tip from his hand, she swabbed hard around the inside of her cheek, handing it back to Crane as he carefully wrapped a tourniquet around her arm, taking a sample of her blood to test.

Without a word, Crane started to hobble down the steps, but was stopped by Becky. "Here," she said, handing him her cane. "You need it more than I do right now."

Looking back at her, he let out a small chuckle and a smile, before proceeding carefully down into his lab, Becky following close behind.

They didn't have to walk far before Crane stopped at large, rectangular white box. He opened the lid, revealing two circular cavities in the middle, one holding a black, almost disc-shaped object and the other holding a metal ring with 36 holes evenly distributed across its surface, designed to hold tiny capsules of blood and DNA for analysis.

"This should only take an hour or two at most," he explained, separating the blood and DNA into the two separate rings, before pressing a button, causing the lids to close over the samples and the machine to whir, the little screen on the underside of the lid glowing blue and displaying a rapidly spinning sphere in multicolored hues with the words PROCESSING… underneath.

"Doesn't this usually take days to get back a result?" she asked, watching the little sphere swirl around.

"Usually," he replied, throwing away the used syringe into the trashcan next to the desk. "But that typically involves the time to transport, processing the samples, deciphering the results, and then relaying it to whoever procured the blood sample. Since we're doing this here, we can cut the time needed by half and cut out the middleman while doing so. Which reminds me, does Chinese takeout sound good to you?"

She nodded, taking out her phone from her purse and flipping it open. "It sounds good to me. I'll see if I can call them up."

Crane was about to reply when the emergency phone he kept in his lab rang. "Now, who could that be?" he wondered curiously, picking up the phone. Due to his lifestyle as a Rogue and for other, more practical reasons (i.e. privacy), his phone number was unlisted in the registry, keeping him off the grid. The only people that could find him were ones he had given the phone number to; or telemarketers, the obnoxious pests. "Hello?"

A familiar voice sounded over the phone. "March Hare? Is that you?"

Jonathan's eyes widened when he heard that familiar nickname. "Tetch? Is that you?"

"Yes! Oh, yes. Thank god you're alive, Jonathan! I thought for certain you were dead!"

"Is that Jervis?" Becky asked, trotting over to him.

Crane nodded. "No, we're not dead, Tetch. Although I wasn't certain for a while," Jonathan replied, adding the last part barely above a murmur. He'd rather not have to bring up that up to Jervis or Becky right now. The less anyone knew how close he was to death, the better he would be.

"Oh, frabjolous day! I thought…" Jervis paused, starting to sniffle quietly before breaking down into tears. "I thought for certain I sent both of you to your deaths. I-I just...I couldn't do anything. They…She…had Alice. I just…c-couldn't lose her. Do you know what it's like, to love someone so completely that the very thought of them dead drives a nail straight into your heart?"

At the mention of Jervis' soulmate, Crane sighed, thinking about his fall just a few hours before, and how scared he felt when Becky had dived after him. He had never felt more scared in those last few moments before the crash in his life. "Believe me, Tetch, I understand completely."

Jervis perked up at that, a small smile starting to spread on his face despite the tears. "Y-You do? Does that mean…"

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, before letting out a sigh. His friend probably suspected his crush on Becky the moment he started obsessing over her in that little cell in Arkham six months ago. "Yeah."

A gasp escaped the Hatter's lips, before he full-on grinned, tears still streaming down his face; the happy kind, this time. "I'm so proud of you, Marchy! I'd never thought I'd see the day you and she got together. Now I'm crying for a whole different reason."

Crane just let out a exasperated sigh, before mouthing to Becky, "Do you see what I have to deal with?"

She put a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing, before pointing to her phone and miming calling, before heading upstairs, already dialing the Chinese restaurant to order their takeout, leaving the two old friends to catch up.

She was just about to press Call on her phone as she began to pass the kitchen when she froze, spotting her doppelganger staring at her from the kitchen table, its grin still ever-present on its face. Startled, she dropped her phone, taking a few steps back as it lifted itself off the chair and strode towards her before reaching out and pulling Becky towards it, its grip tight no matter how much the woman struggled to break free.

With unnerving slowness, the masked face leaned closer to her, stopping just short of her ear, as Becky watched with paralyzed dread as its mouth started to move, "Trust no one," it whispered, its voice cutting and cold, like scissors dipped in liquid nitrogen. The voice spoke like nothing she had ever heard before, sounding echoey and distorted and not altogether there, like she was picking up on a conversation half-way finished and from far away.

Becky didn't know what to make of that. Trust no one? What did that mean? And why was it suddenly talking now? Before she could make anything of that phrase, the figure vanished as stealthily as it had come, gone in a blink of her eyes as she was left standing there, confused, frightened, and annoyed by the aforementioned emotion. _It's not real, Becky. You're tired. You're stressed. You're seeing things that are not there. You just need to relax and it will go away,_ she thought, trying to reassure herself as she slid down to the floor, her right hand brushing a familiar metal object.

Looking down, she picked up her phone, shaking her head as she pressed Call. This day was just getting better and better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scarebeast~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 **For those who don't speak scared Scarecrow-ese, here's what he was saying:**

"What in Parallax's name were you thinking?! You don't just leap after the man who was falling from a ten story building like it's a dive into the lake! Are you out of your god-blessed mind?! The Scarebeast would be unleashed and nothing would be left standing all because you were selfless and tried to save a man with a murder rap a mile wide and seventeen life-sentences in prison who doesn't deserve to experience love in the first place and...

 **Aw, don't say that, Jonathan. You deserve just as much lurve as the rest of them.**

 **Enjoy, and please don't forget to leave a review. Every single one of them makes my day.**


	17. Unsteady Balance

**Hello, all.**

 **Man, I've been snapping these off like clockwork. It seems my muse is finally back on track and is running on full power, which is a good thing for you, dear readers, as it means that these chapters are coming out twice as fast. We've just reached the quarter-way mark in my story, and things are going to heat up quickly!**

 **Now, if you've skipped this note and have already read this chapter, then you're probably wondering what was with the sudden change in tone. The truth is: I was going to have it be kinda depressing and whatnot, on par with some of the normal emotions of people getting superpowers from lab accidents, you know, the 'what does this mean' and 'it's unstable, so I have to do something about it' or 'Great power comes with great responsibility' and blah blah blah for trying to go a dark and angsty route.**

 **But then I thought, "Wait a minute, Paige, this is plucky Becky we're talking about. It would kinda seem out of character for her to get depressed about this sort of thing when it doesn't really have a chance of causing her to die, especially since it allows her to keep up from slowing her partner down and allows her to better defend herself against an attack from a supervillain. I mean, heck, if I had superpowers, would I be depressed? I don't think so."**

 **So I fixed it up, added a bit of connection so the tone doesn't come out of left field, and wrote from there. That, and I wanted a few chapters of calm and happiness before the storm that is to come.**

 **BTW, if you're wondering about the little SCAREBEAST between the symbols, FF has a weird editing bug that prevents the symbols from appearing, which could be confusing when switching to different perspectives. So, I integrate the word in to keep it from disappearing.**

 **But I've blabbed enough. Enjoy!**

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Tapping his fingers against the sides of the table, Crane watched tensely as the whirring wheels in the machine slowed to a stop, the cylindrical lids opening as the computer displayed the results, listing each of the different chemicals found in Becky's DNA and bloodstream.

Glancing at the display, he frowned at the results, taking his glasses off to see if he was reading the results right. But, despite the blurriness, the results were still the same. He could see the normal chemicals produced by hormones of her body, but some were at levels that were off the charts.

For one, the hormones controlling her adrenaline was producing the chemical at a rate that rivaled his own right before he went Scarebeast, but it lacked the enzyme that signaled the DNA to start changing flesh to bark. He could detect traces of Venom in the blood as well, but he was expecting that. Of all the chemicals he could trace, Venom was the least he was concerned about now. Venom, he could combat. The other chemicals, however, he had no idea where to even start.

But he wasn't focusing on that now. What had diverted his attention was the DNA he had pulled up from the epithelial cells. There were the normal strands he came across, with its coded sequences of RNA bound into the familiar double-helix of DNA; slightly altered and a bit fuzzy around the edges, but still looked like normal DNA. But there was one that didn't seem quite right. It looked uneven, its molecules spread out and jagged, like the crags of mountains, its strand constantly coiling and uncoiling, like a popping toy weasel around a ball.

Shifting the lens of his molecular microscope to its highest setting, he zoomed in on the unstable strand, his eyebrows rising to his forehead as he compared the image of the squirming strands with an old photograph of DNA strands he had taken seven years ago.

To his disappointment, it was an exact match.

He let out a harsh curse, his fist slamming into the wall as he let out a roar of frustration. He should have known. He should've seen the signs, the warnings. The mood swings, the fatigue, the constant stress, the amnesia to the events of that night: it all pointed to one cause.

The serum.

All signs pointed to the serum.

 _But not just mine_ , _oh no_ , he thought, angry tears starting to fill his eyes before he wiped them away roughly with the cuff of his jacket. _It just had to include that little tramp stamp's serum along with it._

It made sense now why he couldn't quite identify the signs. The two serums had mixed together well enough to mask some of the symptoms of each other, creating a hybrid mixture that had much of the positive sides of the serums mixed with few of the negatives. And while he would have rejoiced at the result it produced, the fact that Becky was the one exposed to it filled his heart with pain.

There was no telling what the side effects would be, if any. He knew how his body had reacted to half of the mixture, but Becky had gotten both sides. There was no telling what could happen to her or how her body would react, and he didn't have Friitawa to compare notes with, not that he wanted her even a mile away from him. If she even tried to come after them, he would kill her. Slowly. Painfully.

He felt a tingling, numbing sensation in his chest, and he calmed himself, inhaling slowly in and out. Going Scarebeast would do nothing to solve the situation, and it would only serve to make the situation worse. Despite the visceral growling in his mind to unleash his rage, to give in to the beast, he refused to listen. He would not give into that voice.

Never again.

 **"Never say never ever,"** Scarecrow whispered in his ear, but he ignored it, shooing the apparition away with a wave of his hand.

Feeling himself start to relax, he let out a tired sigh, glancing at the uneaten chicken and rice at the edge of his desk. By the time he had even noticed that food had been sitting on the table, it had gone cold. Boxing it up, he trudged up the stairs to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he saw Becky waiting for him on the couch.

"What did you find?" she asked him quietly, her expression softening as she saw the somber expression on his face.

Putting his leftovers in the fridge, he walked slowly towards her, before flopping onto the other side of the couch, exhausted both physically and emotionally.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she replied, her shoulders slumping as she watched him massaging his temples. She looked up at the clock.

5:51 AM.

"Look, you don't have to tell me right now if you don't want to. I know you're tired," she replied, her hand coming to rest on Crane's shoulder as he let out a huff.

"No," he said after a few minutes, taking off his glasses as he rubbed them on his shirt. "You- You deserve to know. You deserve to know now, before…" he couldn't even bring himself to say it. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, wetting his lips.

"Jon, what is it? What's gotten you so upset?" she asked, her eyes starting to fill with tears as one drifted down her cheek.

He paused for a bit, trying to keep a hold of his emotions. He couldn't back out now. He had to be strong. For her, as well as for himself. "I have the results, and it's not good." With a deep breath, he began to explain what he had found.

As he concluded his findings, Becky tried to grasp what he was saying, blinking away her tears as she steadied herself. "So, that's it? You think that I might have come into contact with your serum and Friitawa's and developed powers related to the two? And that's why I had the power to neutralize Croc, dodge Zsasz's blows, and fall from a ten-story building with hardly a scratch?"

He nodded.

"And there's no chance of me suddenly dying from this?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Not a high chance of one, anyway."

"Well, then what's so bad about that?" she exclaimed, starting to let out a relieved chuckle.

Crane was taken aback by those words. "Wha- "

"I mean, for a second there, I thought you were talking about something that would kill me," she said, letting out a small giggle, patting him on the back.

Shock turned to anger as he grabbed her hand. "Did…Did you hear anything I just said? This is serious, Becky! That serum is unstable. We have no idea what could happen if something goes wrong," he growled, one of his eyes glowing amber under the light.

"Of course I do, Jon," she replied snappily, yanking her hand back and crossing her arms. "But this is different. Its unstable. So, what? Just because something is unstable doesn't mean it must be deadly. I mean, look at this." She stood up, gesturing to her left leg as she stomped it on the ground. "Because of this, I can finally walk without having to use my cane. Because of this, you don't have to stay behind and risk getting captured, just because I couldn't keep up." She went silent as she looked away. "Because of this, I don't have to be a burden to you anymore," she whispered softly, Crane just barely catching it as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Becky…"

"No, listen to me, Jonathan! This is going to work out," she said firmly, pulling him up from the couch as she practically hopped with glee. "So what if it has a few side effects? We'll just work a way around them as we go. I mean, with this, we won't have to worry about being separated by Batman or anybody else. Sure, there's the weird Fear gas breath and what not, but we can work that out." She laughed with child-like glee, letting go of his hands as she spun around, her dress swishing about her legs.

"But…"

"I mean, isn't this what you wanted to accomplish all those years ago? What you worked so hard for, and had almost succeeded with, before Friitawa threw a wrench in things? This is it! This is all the proof you need! Take a few sample or so, synthesize and patent it, iron out the bugs, and sell it, we wouldn't even need to go back to crime. Think of what we could do for science! For medicine! We'd win a Nobel Prize for this discovery!"

Despite his protests, he found himself starting to agree with her. The serum did provide a cure for her cerebral palsy, and even before it was mixed, he had seen it alter Friitawa's chromosomes to cure her albinism, so it had shown that it could not only alter chromosomes, but also alter brain chemistry at a molecular level as well. Imagine what it could do for other people, especially those with disabilities like Becky. When he had been interning at the Gotham Medical Center for his doctorate in Psychiatry, he had seen innumerable people come into the hospital with symptoms and conditions far worse than what Becky had suffered, and yet nothing could be done to alleviate their illnesses, or provide them effective treatment beyond the primitive treatments at Arkham or similar places.

She was right. If he synthesized the serum, limiting it to just curing the disease and not providing superpowers, then he could make billions selling this stuff to every hospital on the planet. He'd win a Nobel Prize for sure, probably several, if he was lucky, and for once in his life, he would have the respect and love and admiration that he had longed for all these years. And he could do it all without having to resort to crime and get Batman on his tail.

"You know what? I believe you're right!" he exclaimed, his eyes dancing with excitement as he grinned.

"Really? You mean it!" she asked, excitement sparking in her eyes.

"I do, indeed. If we play our cards right, and false identities, of course, then we wouldn't have to worry about anything. We'd be admired and loved and respected all at once! We'd be famous! We'd be **gods**!" He let out a large laugh of joy, before taking Becky's hands in his and pulling her into a small, happy dance. "And it was all thanks to you, my dear! And here I thought I was giving you a death sentence."

Becky beamed, letting out a jubilant squeal as he hugged her tightly, lifting her slightly off the floor as they both continued to laugh. This was it! This was their chance! No more watching the skies, afraid someone will swoop in at any moment and nab them. No more sleepless nights of worry about the future, or if something would happen to them. They'd be rich! They'd be famous!

And most of all, they would be free!

"Still," Jonathan said, almost as an afterthought. "We should probably test it out first. Make sure it won't cause any undo reactions against certain stimulus."

"Of course, of course," Becky said, waving it off. They could handle that later. Right now, she wanted to celebrate!

Obsessed with their excitement, they didn't pay attention to the small camera taping them from its perch on the top of the highest cabinet nor did they notice the caped figure looking down on them from the window above them, its glowing white eyes narrowing in suspicion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friitawa grinned savagely as she watched the conversation going on in that little room miles above her head, the ear piece attached to her ear allowing her to hear everything clearly. And from what she could hear, the information she was gleaning was certainly very juicy, and she licked her lips in anticipation. While it disappointed her to know that the little pest was still alive and hadn't started to mutate like her other test subjects, she could see the beginnings of an opportunity in her midst.

She bet that scream she had heard was from her. And if she was right, then that would mean that the serum had worked as intended, linking her mind, as well as Jonathan's, together, creating a stable loop from one to the other, like a network of roots linking together different plants of the same species.

 _Perhaps with enough mental power, I can come to influence her actions, and in the process, Jonathan's as well,_ she thought, taking her eyes briefly from her monitor to glance at the spare master controller she had nicked off that cowardly little Hatter, rubbing it between her fingers. The band was useless, she knew, without the cards, but it was still a symbol; a symbol of her control over those dumb, blind sheep aboveground, and a promise of things to come. _But how will I get close enough to them to influence Rebecca's actions, I wonder?_

Plus, the fusion's effects held the key to her stabilization, leaving Ra's Lazarus Pit unneeded and provide her the opening she needed to get rid of the middleman and take over, ruling not just with an underground base that was almost impregnable, but an entire army of trained assassins at her command. Not only that, but with her manipulation of both Strange and Sharp, as well as playing her cards right in regards to the politics in Gotham, she would be on the fast track in not only controlling the city, but several districts around it as well. Not to mention if that annoying flying rodent and his little birds tried to stop her, she had her new and improved fear toxin to keep them well-behaved.

The beeping of her monitor interrupted her thoughts, signaling that she was to meet Ra's at the outer gates of the Pit. "Now what could our Lord and Master want this time, I wonder?" she mocked sarcastically, pulling herself up from her chair, tucking the band into the pocket of her jacket as she exited the room.

With a final glance at the monitor, she clicked the remote in her other pocket, covering the opening with a façade of the shop wall it connected to.

As she walked, a mad light shone in her eyes, her teeth gleaming from within her beastly grin.

 _Let the games begin._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Batman looked down at the couple from her perch on their rooftop, his usual scowl of broodiness and depression lightening somewhat as he saw the two laughing and smiling together While normally he would have crashed through the window, punched out Crane and hauled him back to Arkham, something about the duo's joy-filled expressions caused him to pause.

In all his time of fighting and apprehending Scarecrow, he had never once seen the man ever genuinely smile or experience joy in something other than fear. In fact, describing the Scarecrow experiencing joy without the possibility of fear was like describing the possibility of Joker becoming sane and giving up his criminal ways: an uncalculatable chance of impossibility that the multiverse refused to consider.

But still, the sight of the two, laughing and enjoying themselves together, lit a spark in the Caped Crusader that had lain smoldering since the loss of Harvey Dent. In his younger days, before the death of Jason Todd caused him to question whether anyone could truly be redeemed, he always had a small, flickering hope that, perhaps, people like Harvey Dent or Mr. Freeze could change for the better, to be more than what society or their cruel past life made them.

But as he saw more villains rise, and even more heroes fall, his heart began to harden, hope drowning in pain and slim optimism falling to cynicism. And despite that small flicker reigniting in his heart, he harbored little hope of seeing the two reform.

He shook his head, placing a small bat-symbol button on the ground before turning away as he angled his grappling hook towards a nearby building, zipping away into the air as it pulled him along. It was just another vicious cycle, another cycle of downward spiraling into madness that he had seen far too often; one that would repeat ad infinitum for years to come in the dark city of Gotham, until the day either he died or the universe did.

Yet despite his pessimism, in his heart of hearts, he hoped, dreamed, that he could be proven wrong. That someone would break the cycle of destruction, capture, return, and escape.

That evil could become good once more.


	18. Ghost

**Hello, All. I'm back with another chapter. Now, if you are aware of the story of Arkham Asylum and its sequels, then you know that there is still one major player that still hasn't been introduced as of yet. And, while he has still yet to be introduced into this story, there is a hint of who he might be in this chapter. I know it will probably be obvious to some people, but it's not like the games did much better with the symbolism of this character, anyway. So, forgive me if I don't make this character's hint as archaic as you might like.**

 **I have also attempted to dabble a bit in writing Batman. For me, Batman is a hard man to write for and understand at some level. Like most of the villains in DC comics, his personality is largely based on who the writing team is behind him, which tends to vary wildly in different directions aside from a few obvious rules i.e. he doesn't kill, he dresses in black, dark and brooding, etc.**

 **My problem is that I don't really understand or write stoic people very well. For me, the variety of emotions encountered is what helps me write a character, whether they be weird, angry, sad, or anything else. So writing a stoic person, where I only have a limited amount of emotions that can be shown, is something that is hard for me to do. So, forgive me if my Batman is a little more expressive than is normal for the brooding and scowling Dark Knight that everyone is used to. This is only my take of the character, and as such, this is how I choose to write him.**

 **If you have a problem with this, then you can send me a review telling me how best to correct my characterization. I am always trying to be a better person than who I've been before, and the sooner I get a message stating what I need to work on, the sooner I can address those problems in the future.**

 **Anyway, enjoy.**

 **P.S. I'm probably going to break up my breaks with the chapter name, just to make things a little easier. These are not meant as a code or anything, they are only breaks. Thank you.**

 **Edit: I'm sorry if the format might be a little off. I submitted this chapter a second before I thought to go back and check it. If the format is wonky, please let me know.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~G-H-O-S-T-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ra's al Ghul looked up as the massive doors to the inner sanctum creaked open, shutting with a resounding boom. He glared at the feminine figure entering, a scowl on his face as he watched her approach him. "You're late," he hissed, the acoustics in the room causing his voice to echo across the stone masonry. His eyes narrowed as he noted her bodyguard was nowhere to be found, and had been for nearly a week now. And while he was used to his employees being gone for a few days at a time, but a week with no report was something else entirely. "Where is Petra?"

Friitawa just shrugged. "How should I know? Am I honestly supposed to care about the comings and goings of your little minions? I thought that was your daughter's job, not mine."

"Answer the question, Linda," he snarled, his right-hand inches away from his scimitar, the blade making a tinging sound as he brought it halfway out of its scabbard. "Where is your keeper?"

Friitawa's eyes narrowed, before rolling them at his display of his power. "Honestly, Ra's, your little sword was somewhat threatening the first time around, but bringing it out every other encounter with me is just becoming sad. But I digress. I had to trade your little ninja in a deal with the Penguin. Your little souvenir wasn't enough for him to take the bite, so I had to up the ante for him to take the bait."

Ra's scowled, letting out a curse in Farsi as he drummed his fingers on his arm. He couldn't afford to have any one of his people go without an incredibly good reason. "This had better be worth it, Friitawa. If Cobblepot is given too much power…"

"I know. I know," she replied in the tone of a bored kid getting lectured by his parents. "'He'll have a chance to upset the balance of power that we have worked so hard to establish.' Yadda yadda yadda," she repeated, her hand miming a talking mouth. But her eyes glittered with anticipation as she came closer to him, looking him in the eye as she started to grin.

"But this will be worth it. Cobblepot is the main supplier of the black market's stock of weapons in Gotham. With him under our sway, we will not only get the necessary tools we need to enact this little Arkham gamble of yours, but as the Iceberg Lounge is a gathering spot for most of the Rogues in Gotham, you will have your eyes and ears in all those pathetic little criminals' plans, to manipulate as you wish. Wouldn't you say the cost of one henchwomen was worth it in the end for your plan to succeed?"

Ra's considered this for a moment, before nodding his head, his expression loosening somewhat. "A foothold in Cobblepot's connections will be beneficial in the long run for the plan." His features hardened. "But that still doesn't excuse the fact that you didn't run it past me first, and incapacitated one of my best assassins for a simple favor to boot."

Friitawa scowled, throwing her hands out in exasperation. "What does it matter? I got you the contact we needed and a spy on the inside! Doesn't the results matter more than just losing one man?"

"Don't forget your place, Linda!" he snarled, his voice echoing off the cathedral-like structures of the outer façade. "I am the mastermind of this operation, not you! And while one assassin might not seem like much, our numbers are too thinly spread as to be needlessly sacrificing them just to gain a favor or two. As it is, we need every man we have to make sure the pieces are perfectly in place for Project Arkham to succeed." He paused, letting out a huff, taking a moment to regain his composure. "But, be that as it may, you did give me an opening. This time, I will let you off with a warning. But next time, I will not be so merciful."

She smiled, before giving a mocking bow. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, if you don't require anything else…"

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, watching her slither into the shadows as the doors closed behind her. As the echo of the sound faded into the background, Ra's looked up towards the shadows. "Did you get all that, my dear?"

Talia jumped from her perch on a demon's head statuette to his left, landing silently onto the floor as she looked up at her father. "Every word."

Ra's grinned savagely. "Good. Then you know what you must do."

Talia nodded. With a leap, she scaled the statue's head and into the upper rafters, disappearing without a trace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~G-H-O-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was not a good day for Wyatt Collins.

Firstly, he had woken up from his hangover with a dead fish head lying on his coffee table. It apparently had been there for a few hours as flies had started to swarm it in a frenzy, leaving his already aching head filled with the annoying buzzing of all those insects. He hurriedly shooed them away to get a good look at what gift had been left for him, only to discover it was his boss, the Penguin, that had left him a calling card in the form of a dead fish, which meant that he had been given the delightful job of ferrying equipment into Arkham, a task only reserved for those workers who had displeased the boss, but were still not disruptive enough to require them being fed to his shark.

Secondly, once he had made his way down to the docks, he found his buddy, Irwin, had also been roped into this endeavor, and had no choice but to accompany him on his mission.

Thirdly, once they had set off towards the island, the fog had rolled in, blinding them and causing them to miss the docks, requiring them to turn back around and find it.

Now, as he pulled into the creaky, old dock at the pier off the western side of Arkham Asylum, he couldn't help the sense of dread that was creeping up his spine. It was one thing to be at Arkham in the dark, but Arkham in the dark in the fog? That was just begging for something to go terribly wrong.

"You see anything, Wy?" Irwin asked, straining to see past the dense layer of clouds obscuring his vision.

"No," he replied, taking a step out onto the dock as his buddy tied off the boat. "Do you?"

Irwin shook his head, stepping onto the docks as his buddy pulled him up from the boat, helping him drag the bag of supplies out of the boat and onto the docks. He shuddered, having a bad feeling about this place.

"So, you know where we're supposed to drop this off?" Wyatt asked, rubbing his head at the headache that was forming between his temples.

Irwin nodded. "Yeah. The boss said that I'm supposed to put it at the edge of the dock on the grass."

"Well, what are you waiting for, dummy? Do what the boss wants!" Wyatt snapped, his hair on the back of his neck standing on edge, but from fear or the cold, he did not know.

Irwin glanced into the fog, before shaking his head. "I don't know, man. This place is creepy on a normal night, but the fog is very heavy here. What if I break my neck just walking out there?"

Wyatt let out a sigh. "Look, it's a straight line from here to the edge of the grass. You'll be there and back before anything can happen to you."

Irwin looked down at his supplies, then back to his friend, before sighing. "Fine. But if I die, it's on you."

With a heave, he dragged the supplies from the dock to the edge of the grass. As he did so, he felt a strange huff of breath near his ear. He tensed, looking around and behind him, but found no once.

Shrugging, he walked back to Wyatt.

"See, now was that so hard?" Wyatt queried, a relieved smile on his face as he saw Irwin step towards him, only to suddenly go pale.

"Irwin?" he called, wondering why his friend had stopped.

The thug let out a strangled gurgle as his neck was wrenched harshly to the side, breaking his neck, his limp body falling to the ground, before being dragged into the fog, seemingly disappearing without a trace.

Wyatt, witnessing the sudden execution of his buddy, backed away in horror, his eyes wide and his hands shaking as he pointed the gun towards where his buddy had disappeared. "I-I know you're out there. Show yourself, freak!" he cried, feeling the cold wood of the dock's outside wall pressing against his back, his breath coming out in short gasps of hyperventilation as his heart beat rapidly within his chest, his eyes looking everywhere for anything to move.

Despite his threat, all was silent.

Unfortunately for the thug, the silence was broken by his own frightened screams as he felt himself being lifted into the air, his gun falling from his hands as his feet dangled in the air as he was pulled face to face with a blue and black metallic helmet.

The figure was outfitted all in black, armored from his head down to his waist, with red and black camouflage pants covering his legs. Combined with his black combat boots, steel-reinforced gauntlets, and his dome-shaped blue-black helmet, led to an intimidating and sinister appearance that rivaled the Dark Knight himself.

He heard tales about this being, but he never had thought that those stories would be true. The man he was now facing was supposed to be a ghost, a dark knight of vengeance and malice that stalked the grounds of Arkham Asylum, leaving devastation and destruction in his wake, only to disappear without a trace once morning came.

"Now, what do we have here?" the mysterious man inquired, holding the trembling criminal up to his face, his voice artificially deepened by the voice modulator in his helmet.

Wyatt gulped, his mouth suddenly very dry as he stared at the man. He couldn't discern any features or details about the man, his face obscured by the domed helmet he wore and voice modulator disguising his real voice. Details which did nothing to relieve the ever-growing feeling of dread burying itself deep into his stomach.

The man titled his head. "What's a 'matter? Cat got your tongue?" the figure joked, his voice switching from interest to a sneer, letting out a little chuckle at the man's terrified expression, watching with amusement as Wyatt curled into himself like a terrified kitten.

After a few minutes of silence, the man seemed to get bored of this. "Well, if you're not going to talk," he said, carrying the man until he was dangling over the choppy water, his grip loosening just slightly as he held the man by the hoodie of his coat. "Then I might as well just drop you."

"No! Wait! I'll talk! I'll talk! Just don't drop me!" the man pleaded with the ghost, scrambling to grab something to keep from falling into the freezing dark water below.

Underneath the helmet, the figure grinned. "Good choice," he replied, angling his arm away from the water and onto the rickety wood of the shack. "Now, what brings a crook like you to place like this? I don't get many people trying to break _into_ Arkham."

"I-I was s-sent here by P-P-Penguin. H-He said that my partner and I were to drop off the supplies at the Arkham Asylum dock by 5:00 am today," he stammered, fumbling over his words as he tried to control his trembling body, not that the man above him and the dark, icy depths below helped his nerves.

"That so?" the figure confirmed, looking down at the supplies below him, then back to the man. "Well, I guess the old codger kept his side of the bargain, then. Luckily for you, punk, that means you get to live."

Wyatt let out a sigh of relief. "S-So you'll let me go?"

The man let out a gruff laugh. "Only on two conditions," he hissed, before dragging the man along by one hand, the other scooping up the bag of supplies. "First, you're going to navigate us back to the mainland. Second, you're not to breath a word about any of this, you understand. If I hear one word come out of you…"

"You won't! You won't, man! I swear on my mother's grave!"

The figure smiled, his hand finally letting go of the man's hoodie as he started the engine, before pulling out of there.

After their departure, the sky started to clear, revealing the black symbol of the Bat for all to see.

pThe figure, noticing the signal, smiled beneath his mask, his eyes alight in anticipation. _I'm coming for you, old man. And this time, I will not be forgotten so easily._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~G-H-O-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Batman let out a tired sigh as he pulled into Wayne Manor, his shoulders finally relaxing as he entered the privacy of his home. Entering the elevator going up to his office, he looked outside the windows zooming past him. He could see the last of the night chased away by the day, the sun's rays just barely visible over the crest of the skyscrapers dotting the city line. It was looking to be a clear day, a rarity in the gloom and doom of Gotham, and a potential sign of good things to come.

But, as with his brooding nature, Batman wasn't interested in this change in weather or its potential omens. What he was interested in, however, was the events occurring during his encounter with Scarecrow and Scream. While he wasn't surprised that the girl had leaped after the man, considering her remarkable loyalty to him, he was surprised that she had survived with very little injuries, despite taking the force of impact for both herself and for Scarecrow.

"Coffee, Master Wayne?" Alfred inquired, placing a pitcher of coffee and a mug next to Bruce's desk as the weary man sank into the chair, undoing the clasps of his cowl as he set it on the edge of his desk.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce sighed, sipping the coffee slowly as he nursed the headache caused by the waning effects of the fear toxin. He let out a grateful smile as Alfred returned shortly after with some Advil for his head.

His smile slipped away, however, as he pulled out the file he had recently pulled from the Arkham Asylum servers, with the name **Albright, Becky** printed on the flap. Alfred, noticing this, placed a hand on his charge's shoulder. "You know that this is not your fault, Master Bruce. You did all you could to make sure that poor woman was safe and away from the influences of Gotham's criminal elite. The choice to associate with them was hers and hers alone to make."

"I know," he said softly, his eyes not glancing upwards towards his butler/father-figure. He eyed the newspaper article laminated next to her name, showing her picture with the caption PLUCKY UNDERGRAD CRITICAL IN CASE VERSES THE SCARECROW headlined above her. "Alfred, can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly," Alfred replied, a small smile on his face.

Bruce leaned back into his chair, looking out onto the skyline above him, contemplating how he wanted to ask this question. "Do you ever get tired of this?"

"Tired of what, Master Bruce?" he asked, concern written on his face.

Bruce turned around, elbows against the desk as he rubbed his forehead. "This endless cycle. The criminals break out, terrorize Gotham. I put them back in their cage, only for them to break out hours later going back to the same old thing."

"Is this about being Batman, Master Bruce? Because I remember having this same discussion with you quite a few times before."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not talking about that, Alfred," he said, getting up from his desk as he pulled out drawer with the Rogues' files, leafing through them absentmindedly. "Every time I put someone back into Arkham, whether it be Joker or Scarecrow or Croc, they seem to take something close to me with them. For Falcone, it was Harvey. For Joker, it was Jason. And now, it's her."

Alfred, taking an empty chair from the front of the desk, scooted it closer until he was facing the desk. "Sir, I know you weren't as close to Becky as you were with Harvey or Jason. So why are you taking this so hard now?"

Bruce shook his head. "It's not about that, Alfred. It was what she potentially could be." He glanced over at the open window in front of him, looking out as the sleeping city slowly coming to life. "I've dealt with many victims over the years I've been Batman. Most of them are glad to be rid of someone like Joker or Scarecrow. Some would even be clamoring for them to be given the death penalty. But when I peered into her eyes that night six years ago, Alfred, I saw no hint of hate in her heart as she watched Scarecrow being hauled into the police car, nor did she seem glad that he was being carried away. If anything, she looked sad, sad for the man that had killed her pet, threatened her life, and caused her unspeakable terror, all in the name of studying her fear." He paused once again, before pushing the drawer closed.

"I thought perhaps she could see the same potential in them that I could see; that perhaps she could make a difference for good without resorting to cruelty that so many others would in her position in the name of reformation," he said, his scowl returning as he handed the file over to Alfred. "Only for her to turn around five years later and join him in his terrorizing Gotham."

"Is it perhaps that you didn't know her as well as you thought you did, sir?" Alfred asked, pouring another cup of coffee for Bruce.

The younger man shook his head, looking down at his gloved hands. "No, it's not that. Despite the people she's joined, she's kept her morals and her conscience, even if those are being put to the test constantly. And I've noticed she's been a good influence on Crane as well. His attacks have become fewer in the past couple of months, and in those attacks, none of them have been civilian casualties."

"Then if Becky is doing well, and has even had a positive impact on Scarecrow, why are you upset?" the elderly man asked as he read over the report.

Bruce looked up to meet the eyes of his father-figure and friend. "Because so often, things seem to be getting better when in reality they are getting worse. Harvey was getting over his anger when he had acid thrown in his face. Jason was finally starting to listen to me when he was killed by Joker. What's to say this won't be the same? What's to say she won't snap and become more of a threat than Scarecrow or Fright?" he huffed softly, his tired, bloodshot eyes betraying the hidden emotions he was feeling as he looked away and out towards the city, his hands starting to relax from their harsh grip on the armrests. "I know that there would be this type of risk involved when I took up the mantle of the Bat, but…"

"But it still doesn't make the wounds any less painful," Alfred finished, turning the chair so that the man faced him again, setting the report to the side. "Master Bruce, it's okay to have doubt. Any lesser man would have given up on those people long ago. You're one of the few people in Gotham that believe that there is still good in every person, regardless of who they are. And, although they do everything in their power to prove that they are irredeemable, you still believe that anybody, even someone as loathsome as the Joker, can change. That's why you don't believe in killing. Because deep down, you know that they can be more than what they are now. Have faith, Master Wayne, and don't give up. Things will get better."

Bruce's lips curved into a tiny, hopeful smile. "Thank you, Alfred. Sometimes, I need someone to remind me of that fact."

Alfred returned his smile. "You're welcome, Master Bruce. Some days, we all need reminders that there is hope in this world."

He pulled his chair back into place, and with a bow, left the room, leaving his master to his work, happy knowing that his charge was in a better mood.


	19. Gifts and What if's

**Hello, all. I'm here, with probably the last story update for the summer. In a couple of days, I will be interviewed for a job, and if I get the job, there will be less time for me to update. Plus, with college starting in a couple of weeks, I will be a lot busier than I have this summer.**

 **Despite that, I thank you for staying with me for this long. I know I don't update at a consistent basis, but I promise I will not give up on this fic, even though it may be quite a while between updates.**

 **Also, cookies to anyone who can guess the books Crane is going to give Becky.**

 **Hint: The second book is based on people in a two-dimensional world and the lives they live.**

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Crane rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his fingers tapping against the worn table at the downtown Starbucks Cafe, his empty cups of rich, black coffee with just a hint of pumpkin spice sitting abandoned off to the side, his other hand already grasped around his fifth coffee of the day. At his feet sat a plastic shopping bag from the Gotham Grounds for Thought bookstore, the smiling cartoon brain with a book in its hands on the cover exclaiming for all to "Read more books!".

Normally, at this time of the morning, he would be either forced to go to sleep by Becky or, as of most of his career pre-Albright, be up and about working on his toxin. Surprisingly, neither were the reason he was sitting at a coffee shop, waiting for someone to show.

A flash of blonde hair caught his eye as he looked up. From his location at the back of the restaurant, he could see Harley and Ivy, sans costumes, coming towards him, both holding a medium cup of coffee in their hand. From what he could guess knowing their tastes, theirs were an espresso with lots of whipped cream with a cherry on top for Harley, and a black coffee with two sugars for Ivy.

Harley, noticing him off in the corner, rushed over to him, her smile almost blinding in the light of the morning sun streaming in from the window. "Hi, Professah! Long time, no see," Harley cried with her usual no-indoors voice, causing some of the customers to look over at her in curiosity.

Crane let out a chuckle at her exuberance, letting out a bemused sigh as Harley nearly tackled him into a hug. "Hello to you too, child," he greeted, slowly prying the woman off him, trying to keep his cool as the other customers continued to stare for a bit, before shrugging and going back to their studies. "I take it you got my message."

"Yep," Harley chirped peppily, sliding childishly into her seat as Ivy rolled her eyes with a smile, sitting down next to her. "And I brought Pamela along just like you asked."

"For the record, I went here for her, not for you," Ivy replied with a huff, glaring at Crane with a disdainful look.

"Noted," he retorted, sending the same glare right back at her, before changing the subject as he glanced towards Harley, who was busy swirling around her espresso with her straw, giggling with childish glee as the whipped cream bobbed in the water. "Now, I'm sure you both know why I called you here today."

"Your girlfriend's birthday is tomorrow and you're asking us for advice before you jump right in and it crashes and burns around you like you did with your first attempt at wooing her," Ivy replied, a small satisfied grin appearing on her face as she saw the strawman scowl.

"That was 6 years ago, Ivy, and, if I recall, weren't you the one who helped me design the costume in the first place?" Crane parried back at her, watching with a smirk as it was now her turn to fume.

"I said to make it look sexy, not slutty! Honestly, why I trusted a man like you to get it right, I have no idea," Ivy snapped, leaning forward aggressively, her fists coming down with a slam against the table.

"Uh, guys," Harley pipped in worriedly, her eyes watching the manager behind the bar starting to head towards their table.

Crane leaned forward as well, his eyes now flickering with glowing amber flecks. "That's very rich, coming from a straw feminist that thinks men are only good for mindless servants, fertilizer and one-night stands."

"Guys," Harley gulped, as the manager came closer, an angry scowl upon his face and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"At least I don't pollute the environment with aerosol sprays that were banned in the '80's!" she snarled, her hand reaching out and grabbing Crane's cardigan by the neck, her face dangerously close to his.

"At least I don't walk around town like some drug-dealing, tree-hugging, venereal- diseased who-"

"Guys!" Harley shouted.

"What?!" Crane and Ivy both snapped.

Harley gestured behind her as the burly manager of the place glared down at them, his big knuckles cracking dangerously as he loomed over them.

Both shut their mouths as they stared up at the man.

"Is there a problem here?" he growled lowly, his voice booming in the sudden quiet of the cafe. The other patrons looked over at them curiously, before abruptly going back to their activities as the manager glared over at them.

Crane shook his head rapidly.

Ivy was about to make a nasty retort, when she felt Harley's hand on her shoulder, shaking her head at her.

With a sigh, she shook her head.

Satisfied, the manager left them with a warning, returning to his station.

The table was silent, with only the gulping sounds from Harley interrupting the quiet.

After a few minutes, Harley finally chimed in, putting her empty espresso cup to the side with a satisfied gasp. "So," she said, her usual perky attitude returning. "What exactly are you planning to get for Becky?"

Crane's sour expression lightened as he pulled out two books from his bag, one depicting a mouse with a needle held around a thread belt, the other depicting a clear glass pyramid of dimensional planes with a picture of stars and a rainbow offset to the right in a frame below it.

"Okay, I got her two books, but I feel like that doesn't seem to cover it. So," he reached into the bag again, this time bringing out five small, black leather boxes of various sizes. "I also "bought" her two orange sapphire earrings, a pearl necklace, a fire opal hair clip, and a ring with orange sapphires and topaz in the pattern of a pumpkin."

Both villains gaped at him in shock.

Crane's frowned, his fingers tapping nervously against the counter. "I don't know. Do you think this is too much?"

"Yes!" "No!" they both said at the same time, Ivy with a stunned look of disbelief still on her face and Harley with a look of ecstatic glee.

Crane looked between them, before putting the valuable merchandise away, in order to not have anybody outside their group getting any prying eyes on his prizes. "I think I might need a clearer answer than that."

Ivy snapped out of her shock. "You-You're serious about getting her all this."

Crane nodded.

"Oh! Oh! Are you really planning to…" Harley stopped shouting as she saw the manager give her a glare from over the counter. "…propose to her?" she finished in a whisper.

This time it was Crane's turn to look at her in shock, his cheeks growing red. "What? No! I-I mean, not right now," he replied, lowering his voice as he caught the looks being directed at his table.

"Then why the hell are you giving her all of this for her birthday?" Ivy replied, her voice lowered down to a hiss as she saw the manager still glaring at them, his eyes watching them like a hawk, a phone in his hand that she was sure had the boys in blue on speed dial if she so much as made another noise.

"I don't know. I just…" Crane let out a sigh, a hand brushing through his carrot-orange hair. "After everything I put her through, I feel I have to give her something to make up for all the times I ruined her life."

Both Harley and Ivy looked at each other, their eyebrows raised in surprise and a little bit of amusement. They would have never guessed that Jonathan Crane a.k.a the Scarecrow, the Master of Fear himself, could experience guilt, nor to the degree that he would risk his reputation in order to make it up to the woman he loved. After all, they were so used to seeing the cold, cruel, calculating and cackling Scarecrow that seeing the awkward, dorky, head-over-heels in-love side of Jonathan Crane was a hilarious contrast.

His eyes narrowed as he saw their amused looks. "And if I hear that any word of this conversation has gotten out of this cafe…" he snarled, pointing a finger at both of them.

"We get the point, Jonathan," Ivy replied with a smile. "Still, I think the jewelry might be a _bit_ much for a birthday."

"Hmm, you're probably right," Crane considered, although he planned to keep the ring. It wasn't often that he found a ring in the shape of a pumpkin, and, in the event he did propose to Becky, he wanted to have a ring without any of the associations of Arlem or his Granny. "Still, books: yay or nay?"

"Yay!" Harley exclaimed, tuning it down mid-way to keep from getting into trouble.

"…sure," Ivy agreed reluctantly.

"Can I throw her a party?" the blonde asked excitedly.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I don't think she would mind. Just make sure you don't sneak in Joker."

"Aw, c'mon, Professah. Please! I promise I'll keep him outta trouble" she pouted, putting on her best puppy dog eyes.

Crane wasn't buying it. "Harley, I said no. Besides, after our last encounter with your boyfriend, I don't think it would be good idea for him to be at her party. Unless, of course, you want to ruin her birthday, which I'm sure, as her friend, you wouldn't want to do," he reasoned, trying to persuade the girl. The last thing he needed was that clown showing up, especially since he would just serve to derail the celebration and likely cause such a commotion that Batman or the GCPD would have to intervene.

The blonde's pigtails seemed to droop. "Okay," she sighed, but perked up again as she was distracted by something shiny in the corner of the shop. "I'll be right back."

Crane didn't even bat an eye as Harley ran off, an amused smirk sliding across his lips as he watched the young woman looking around for the shiny object. _She's worse than Nightmare_ , he thought, remembering how distracted his pet raven would get once it had spotted an interesting object. Numerous times he would be looking for his watch or his glasses, only to find that Nightmare had nabbed them and taken them to her nest. Needless to say, it took him quite a bit of convincing and bribery for the bird to give him back his belongings,

After a few minutes of running around, Harley hopped back into her seat. "Sorry, where were we?"

At that comment, both Ivy and Crane let out a snort of laughter, with Crane keeping a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing.

"Look," he said, calming himself, although a stray chuckle still managed to escape. "This is your idea, Harley, so I'll let you decide who you want to invite, as long as they aren't going to be a danger or cause too much unnecessary commotion."

"You got it. I'll make sure Becky gets the best birthday party ever!" she squealed, jumping up as she dashed out the door.

"Wait! Harley, I didn't tell you about the…" Crane called, before noticing she was already out the door. "…schedule."

Ivy let out an amused sigh. "I can tell her later. Just e-mail me the schedule and I'll be sure to give it to her."

Jonathan sighed, rubbing his head at the sudden migraine blossoming beneath his temples. "You do that. I'm going back to the lair. Becky's probably wondering where I wondered off to by now." He paused, momentarily forgetting something, before adding, "Oh, and the bill's already payed."

Ivy gave him a curt nod with a small, almost invisible smile. As she watched the retreating man hurry on his way back to his home and his girlfriend, she couldn't help the smile growing on her lips. Perhaps Becky wasn't lying when she said Crane was different from the other guys she had known. She hoped, for the girl's sake, that she was right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Becky lay curled up on the couch, popcorn nestled in her lap and kitten curled around her neck as she watched the first Harry Potter movie, her eyes barely looking away from the screen as Harry flew on his broomstick after the Golden Snitch, breath held as the Boy who Lived came closer and closer to the winged, golden ball.

"Come on, come on," she muttered to herself, leaning forward, her bloodshot eyes glued to the screen. While she would normally be asleep during this time of the day, her excitement and the need to celebrate took precedence over sleep. It had been so long since she felt this hopeful, and she wanted to enjoy this moment as long as she could.

She let out a loud whoop of joy as Harry caught the Golden Snitch, startling the kitten as he opened his eyes, glaring crossly at his human before settling back into his nap.

No matter how many times she saw the movie, the Quidditch tournament always caused her heart to race as she cheered on the Gryffindor team, of which she was proud to say she was a member. It didn't matter how many times she had seen the movie or how many times she had seen the scene play out; each time still kept her at the edge of her seat in anticipation and her heart pounding in her chest.

"I take it you're enjoying your movie," a voice whispered behind her.

She jumped away with a yelp, spilling the popcorn and causing Crow to flee as she spotted Jonathan's head above her, an amused grin on his face as he laughed, his wiry body squeezing out of the small space at the back of the couch and plopping down beside her.

"Hroo-haha, that trick never gets old!" he chortled, laughing in his odd but natural way, as she grinned and playfully punched him in the side.

"You jerk! You nearly scared me half to death," Becky cried with a laugh, brushing popcorn off of her shirt as she flicked some towards Jonathan, who shielded his face from her attack.

"Well, I wouldn't be called the Master of Fear if I didn't scare a few people every now and again, now would I?" he crowed back, returning fire with popcorn kernels of his own, causing a sharp bark of laughter from his partner as it was now her turn to shield her face.

After a couple of laughs, they settled down into the couch, enjoying the movie as they munched on popcorn together, relaxing for the first time in a long while.

"You know, I'm actually surprised that you decided to join me, Jon," Becky said, her eyes momentarily leaving the screen as she looked towards him. "Usually, I would have expected you to be down in your lab by now, fixing up fear toxin or feeding Craw and Nightmare or something."

"What? Can't I simply relax from time to time, and enjoy my favorite person with her favorite movie? Or do I always have to be at work?" he teased, a wry, boyish smile on his face.

She chuckled. "Oh, I'm not complaining. It's just usually when I see you, you're coming up here to get some coffee or food. Heck, most days I have to force you to get a few hours of sleep. And considering what happened yesterday, I wouldn't be surprised that you would be down there working all hours of the night." She looked down to his lap. "Speaking of which, how's your leg doing?"

With a shrug, he swung it out a bit, the black leg brace making a thump against the leather sofa. "Not bad. It seems that the fracture was localized to my foot, and not to the calf or thigh as I had initially expected. Give it a few days and it'll be back in business."

She smiled ruefully. "Let me guess. The advanced healing is due to the Scarebeast serum, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he replied, looking down as he let out an exhausted sigh. "Everything just seems to keep leading back to it, doesn't it? If I had known all this would happen to me almost seven years ago, I probably would have thought better about Penguin's offer."

Becky became silent, mulling over something in her mind, no longer paying attention to her movie.

Jonathan looked over at her, perplexed by her sudden silence. Lately, she was getting quieter, more withdrawn. It was loads better than when he had first met her, back when she was an undergrad, but the sudden quiet from her was unusual, especially when she was enjoying herself earlier.

"Penny for your thoughts, Becks," he asked quietly, concern evident in his eyes as he tried to break the ice.

She let out a snort at the silly nickname, a tiny smirk appearing briefly on her face before going back to its melancholy expression. "Jon, do you…" she stopped, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh. "Do you ever wish that things could have ended differently?"

"Differently how?" he questioned, one eyebrow raised, wondering where she was going with this.

She shrugged, taking out a pony tail holder from her purse. "Like, if we hadn't met, or if you hadn't decided to become a psychiatry professor, or even if our parents had been nicer than they had been. That sort of thing," she explained, tying her curly hair up into a ponytail, double-tying it to make sure it didn't slide out.

Crane leaned back, glancing up at the dry wood ceiling above them. "Some days. What about it?"

She snuggled in next to him, getting herself comfortable before replying, "Sometimes, I wondered what would have happened if that day six years ago had been the last time we met. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy we got to meet again, and I have no regrets about our relationship or falling in love with you." She paused for a moment, considering her words carefully. "But some days, I wish it could have happened without this whole supervillain/Rogue's Gallery thing." She looked up at his blank expression, before shaking her head with a chuckle. "You probably think this whole thing is stupid, huh?"

"It's not stupid, Becky," he replied softly, one arm going behind her and pulling her closer to him, his hand at the small of her back. "It's human nature to wonder about the 'what ifs' in life." He adjusted the glasses on his head, before looking down at the beautiful woman lying next to him. "Some days, I wonder if I would have been different if I had been raised by my mother instead of Granny. Or if I had decided to go into psychics and chemistry instead of psychiatry in college."

He looked down, his expression growing somber. "Some days, I wonder if it will continue to work out between us; that our partnership can stand the test of time and whatever obstacles life has decided to throw our way without fracturing us into pieces."

He leaned in closer to her, his breath ruffling the curly strands of hair on her face. "But if there is one thing I have no regrets or second thoughts about, it's knowing you, Becky Albright," he whispered, bringing her lips to his in a loving kiss, his forehead leaning against hers as he closed his eyes, savoring her taste against his lips.

She reciprocated, her eyes closing as they seemed to drink each other in, enjoying the quiet moment together as they settled back in, watching the last of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in comforting silence.


	20. Distracted

**Ah, it's good to be back! School's still a pain, but thankfully, I have enough free time to complete this chapter.**

 **Now, some of you may be wondering about Crane's seemingly split-personality. The way I see it, it's kinda like a Jekyll/Hyde type of thing, with Jonathan Crane being the mild-mannered and intelligent Dr. Jekyll and Scarecrow being the brash and sociopathic Mr. Hyde. Before, the two would be nearly inseparable, as explained by his opening line in Arkham Asylum: "There is no Crane, only Scarecrow!". But since he became friends with Jervis, then Becky, the two sides have become increasingly hostile to each other. While Jonathan sees Becky as his everything and has gradually started opening up to others thanks to her, Scarecrow only sees her as an obstacle and a distraction; a fascinating obstacle, but an obstacle nonetheless.**

 **But Scarecrow is more than just his vices given form. It is also everything that Crane sees as wrong with himself: his paranoia, his fears, his inner insecurities, his pain, his guilt; everything that he tries to hide and more.**

 **And you may be saying "But what about Becky? Doesn't she also have something like this?". And in a way she does. But I can't say too much for risk of spoilers, and we wouldn't want that, now would we? *wink, wink***

 **~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Friitawa grunted as she hauled the rusty door open, the hinges screeching and dust and a few pebbles falling from the ceiling as the metal door swung open, the light from the lantern in the wall in front of her illuminating only a few feet out into the darkness.

She took a deep breath as she stepped forward into the darkness, closing her eyes as she helped her body adjust to the sudden blackness as it engulfed her completely, opening them again a few minutes later as she stepped forward.

Opening her eyes, she could suddenly see the world in a series of grey hues, her view shifting from color vision to night vision, the faint light causing her eyes to shine green.

Friitawa smiled. _Good. It seems my experiment is a success_ , she thought, a small smile crinkled at her lips as she walked forward, careful to keep herself from slipping as she wandered the abandoned subway station.

It had taken months, but she had finally successfully spliced the proteins necessary for natural night vision into her body. Her previous attempts to splice various animal and plant DNA into her men had ended in success, but the end result was somewhat lacking. She had expected her minions to have the enhanced senses and abilities she had spliced into them. Instead, it had left them looking like disfigured mutants, with only a select few benefiting from the mutations, such as sharp claws.

Her encounter with Killer Croc in the sewers had helped answer many of her questions in regards to genetics and splices. She remembered her bargain with the reptile man, promising him plenty of food and a possible cure for his mutation in exchange for his willingness to be subject to her experiments, a promise she had only partially planned to fulfill. And thanks to him, she finally had cracked the code for nocturnal vision, a power that was necessary in her line of work, especially for keeping an eye on that annoying bat.

As she eyed the crumbling, abandoned subway tunnel, she couldn't help but wonder what happened to the man-eating mutant. She had heard no word of his capture, so she could only assume he had disappeared into the sewers during the Scarebeast attack.

Pausing for a bit, she shook her head, continuing onward as she wrenched another door open. It didn't matter. By the time she was finished, he would be reduced to nothing, shivering and sobbing in his murky water as the world above him crumbled under the power of fear.

She smiled, her expression predatory as she spied a homeless person huddled in the corner warming himself beside a fire-filled dumpster, her nostrils flaring as she caught his scent of unwashed clothes and body odor, along with the acrid scent of oil and plastic from the fire.

Crouching down, she snuck behind her victim, her eyes narrowing as she licked her lips in anticipation, before she pounced, the small scythe in her hands slicing his jugular, the only sound from the man a strangled gurgle as he slumped to the floor.

Despite the man's death, however, Friitawa just kept going, slicing and dicing him in a bloody frenzy, her teeth bared as she laughed, not stopping until the corpse was nothing more than a bloody mess of tissue and plasma.

She panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared down at the mangled flesh below, the ecstasy of the kill causing her to shiver with pleasure as she imagined the body to be that of her sworn enemy.

"Are you done?"

Friitawa snapped her head to the side at the noise, recognizing the voice a second before its owner came into view.

Talia looked down at the woman's kill, her expression turning to a frown at the blood and gore splattered around the area. "Must you make a mess wherever you go?" she sighed, watching with disgust as Friitawa licked the blood off her fingers, seemingly enjoying the taste.

The albino glared at the woman, hunching protectively over her kill. "I don't recall needing a babysitter, Talia," she snapped.

The assassin smirked, her arms crossed as she glowered down at the feral scientist. "And I don't recall my father sending you down here. And yet, here you are," she replied, gesturing around her at the empty subway station. "And since you seem so intent on pushing his buttons, is it any wonder why he's decided to shorten your leash?"

Friitawa's eyes narrowed, before she let out a snort. "I doubt that is the only reason you're down here." She turned away from the body, walking towards the metal door leading deeper into the underground. "But since you're down here and curious about my business like the nosy little jackal that you are, I suppose you can help me fulfill my bargain with the Penguin."

With that, she wrenched open the rusty door, disappearing further down into the maze.

Talia shook her head, her hands clenched into fists as she followed after her. Whatever it was the albino was up to, she was going to make sure it didn't interfere with her father's work. Even if it meant having to kill her herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S-C-A-R-E-B-E-A-S-T~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was the day.

Jonathan Crane let out a sigh of relief as he finished detailing the plan for the party, checking it over one last time to make sure everything was just right.

It had taken hours and several rewrites, but he was finally satisfied. He was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this wouldn't backfire on him. He had set up the reservations, typed up the guest list, picked out the flowers—with Ivy's recommendation, of course—arranged the balloons, dusted off and fixed up an old tuxedo from a previous costume he had and picked out a dress for Becky, and made sure that both of them had a full bag of fear toxin in case Harley decided to bring the Joker along or Batman decided to crash the party.

He had even made and e-mailed a schedule to Harley to make sure everything would go according to plan. Hopefully, she wouldn't decide to add her own flair to this. He didn't want any surprises rising up and biting him where it hurt. Then again, it _was_ Harley he was talking about, so he didn't expect much restraint; just hopefully nothing that would lead to trouble.

He sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes from behind his glasses. His insomnia had been acting up again, but thankfully, his best friend the coffee maker had his back for now, even if it did take forever to produce the bitter liquid that kept him running.

Yet despite that everything was ready and prepared, a knot of worry still sat curled in his belly. What if something went wrong? What if she was allergic to the flowers? What if the dress didn't fit? What if the Bat decided to ambush them on the way to dinner? These worries and more pounded in his mind, causing him to pace nervously from his place at the table.

With a sigh, he pulled out a chair and sat down, slumping forward as he rubbed at his itchy eyes, struggling to concentrate. Unconsciously, he glanced in the direction of Becky's bedroom, a small, tired smile lighting up his face as he imagined her reaction to the surprise party.

 **"Tuckered out, Johnny-boy?"**

Jonathan groaned as he turned his head to face his alter ego, before turning away with a huff. "What do you want, Scarecrow?" he grumbled.

The imaginary figure seemed to chuckle at the exhausted man as it jumped into a chair, crouching into it, one leg lazily swinging back and forth. **"Want? Why does it always have to be about something I want? Can't I just visit my favorite patient without such hostility?"**

Crane let out a snort, his eyes glaring at the annoying phantom, glasses slightly askew on his nose. "Just go away. I'm not awake enough to deal with you right now."

Scarecrow laughed, the sound resembling the caw of his crows. **"Now, you know as well as I do that I can do no such a thing. I'm just as much a part of you as you are of me."**

He looked down at the list under Jonathan's arm, sliding it out as the man let out a bark of protest.

Scanning the list quickly, Scarecrow's smile turned into a frown. **"What's all this?"**

"It's Becky's birthday schedule," Crane said drowsily, sitting up sluggishly as he heard the coffeemaker beep, moving over to the noisy machine quickly and shutting it off, pouring himself a cup of coffee while doing so.

Scowling, his doppelganger threw the list down. strong"Why are you wasting your time on this? Shouldn't you have better things to do than plan out that little mouse's party?"/strong he queried, his voice quickly picking up an irritated tone.

"My plans to terrorize Gotham can wait for a day," Jonathan snapped, sipping at his coffee. "Besides, I'd rather not have my foot broken after it has just healed."

 **"That's a flimsy excuse and you know it, Crane!"** Scarecrow snapped, his hand banging against the table as he slid closer to the man, leaning until he was eye to eye with his twin. **"We both know you've had more serious injuries and have still kept on going. Why's this more-** " the phantom suddenly cut himself off, before starting to chuckle. **"Oh, I get it now,"** it said, its shoulders shaking as he laughed. **"You…You think you actually have a chance with her, don't you?"**

"What are you talking about?" Jonathan whispered, his back touching the wall, watching fearfully as his phantasm clawed its way across the table until it was face to face with him once again, its eyes, once hollow and black, now glowing a chilling icy-blue, the same hue and intensity as Crane's own.

 **"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Johnny-boy. It's been at the back of your mind constantly since that night more than three weeks ago, from that moment that little vermin confessed her love back to you."**

"And so what if I have?" Jonathan snarled, his anger giving him the courage he lacked as he jabbed his finger in the phantom's face. "After everything I went though, I think I deserve at least a little bit of happiness in my life. Besides, she chose me, didn't she? She could have picked any other guy, and yet she chose me."

 **"And what makes you think she had a choice?** " Scarecrow asked, a smile starting to stretch across its face.

"I beg your pardon?" Jonathan hissed, his voice low as his eyes started to shine with yellow light.

 **"Think about it, genius. The only guy you allow her to be around is you. You hoard her all to yourself, practically keep her trapped in this metal prison you call a lair. So why are you so surprised she would chose you? She had no choice. It was either chose you or risk breaking your heart. And you remember the last time she broke your heart, right?"**

A haunted look crossed the former professor's face, his eyes wide as tears threatened to run down his cheeks. Yes, he could never forget what had happened that day 6 years ago. He still remembered the rage he felt when she rejected him, the look of terror in her eyes as his scythe reflected in her pupils, tears threatening to spill as she held her ground, waiting for her death.

"No! No, I refuse to believe that!" he snapped, salty tears starting to drip down his cheeks. "I-I wouldn't have done that to her. Even if she had said no!"

 **"Are you so sure about that, Johnny-boy? Let's think back to that night, hmm? You felt hopeless, defeated. Not even two hours earlier you had your hands wrapped around her throat. You apologized, revealed your deepest fears and worries, and finally confessed that you loved her, that you couldn't live without her. You said your deepest fear was losing her. How else would she have responded than to say she felt the same? Why else would she say that you, Jonathan Crane, the Master of Fear and the Lord of Despair, deserved love and kindness just as much as any other person, especially after all you did to her? Killing her pet, dousing her with your most potent fear toxin, stalking her, offering her to be the mistress of fear with a lewd costume. Heck, even when she finally joined you, you still didn't let up. You risked her life for your own personal gain, sacrificed her clear record and reputation for another few notes of research on fear, and even her very humanity thanks to you falling for Friitawa's trap,"** Scarecrow retorted, watching with satisfaction as Crane seemed to shrink into himself, wincing with every word out of figure's mouth. **"So, tell me again. Why are you wasting your time on something that you know will never last?"**

"Because…Because…" he stammered, before slumping to the floor, a sigh of defeat escaping his lips as he found he couldn't come up with any retort. "Look, just give me this one day, okay. One day were everything goes right, nothing explodes in my face, and nobody is threatening me or Becky. After this, I'll try to let her down easy. Deal?"

The phantom considered this, its back turned to its partner.

Crane waited patiently, his arm crossed as he nervously tapped his fingers against his other arm, waiting for its response, his other hand held out for the strawman to shake.

Finally, Scarecrow spoke. **"Fine,"** he snarled, grudgingly taking the outstretched hand. **"But mark my words, Johnny-boy. This endeavor is going to cost you dearly. But, unfortunately, our little session is over, so I bid you adieu for now."**

And with a tip of its straw hat, the figure disappeared back into the shadows from whence it came, leaving the tired man to his own musings.

Crane closed his eyes, before rubbing his head as he shakily pulled himself up off of the floor, letting out a tired sigh, pondering what he would do next as he trudged to his bedroom.


End file.
